


A Modern Morality Tale

by Lexin



Category: Eroica Yori Ai o Komete | From Eroica with Love
Genre: Canon-Typical Homophobia, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-09
Updated: 2018-12-09
Packaged: 2019-09-14 20:55:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 19
Words: 51,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16920225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lexin/pseuds/Lexin
Summary: This is a fairly standard Eroica plot which takes a sudden turn for the worse about halfway through.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The original version of A Modern Morality Tale appeared in “Red Rose 3″. It was co-written by Clarence, also known as Vardek.

There were a good many things that Major Klaus von Eberbach was prepared to do for NATO; die for it, certainly, fight for it, argue with displaced Bosnians and keep the peace between warring tribes of whatever colour. However he felt now that they had asked one thing too much, gone that step too far.

He looked at the file in his hand. The photograph was no worse than many he had seen in a career in Intelligence, better than some, and it took a closer look to see the indignity. Three corpses, the ground soaked in blood, blood which was black in the pitiless light of a flash photograph. Each corpse had its head removed, swapped round like a mischievous child playing with its dolls. Not that the Major had ever played with dolls.

They were – had been – his agents. He had known these people, they had been part of his responsibility. The mysterious agents known only by letters of the alphabet. C, D and F had been good men on the whole, no more prone to error than anyone else. The Major looked again at the photograph. Maybe he owed them something – but this?

“You want me,” said the Major, in the tone of one getting something clear in his mind, “to go to England, and give the impression that I am an alcoholic.”

“Yes.” The Chief didn’t seem to think this odd.

“In the belief that by rendering myself a suitable target for blackmail I may be able to find the people who are responsible for the deaths of C, D and F and who is paying them.”

“That’s right.” The Chief leaned back and fluffed out his white moustaches.

The Major knew that was a sign that the Chief didn’t want to be argued with, but he did it anyway. “I don’t quite see how this will be achieved.”

“We need the information to be traceable. The more exact the information the closer to NATO and to the source, to you. It’s a pity that C, D and F were on loan from your team to Major Hövermann’s, and more of a pity that Hövermann killed himself.”

“Yes, that is – inconvenient.” It was more than inconvenient, and the Major knew it. Inconvenient was an Intelligence euphemism for disastrous.

“If it weren’t for that, we could continue to use Hövermann as bait, but you’re the next best choice.”

“Thank you,” said the Major, ironically. “What was Hövermann working on? Is that perhaps part of the plot?”

“We doubt it, the problem he was engaged on was a routine mission in northern France. No…,” the Chief seemed deep in thought, “all Hövermann’s note said was that he was ashamed, and he never believed his betrayal of NATO could result in the death of the agents. Besides, he wasn’t the first victim, just the first in NATO intelligence.”

“Yes, sir.” The Major had heard this already.

“As I said, you’re our best bet, Major. Make it look good. The closer the source, the better. We’ll all be right behind you.”

The Major hoped he didn’t look as unconvinced as he felt.

He went back to the office he shared with his agents, using the slow lift in the lobby to go up. He stood, waiting for it to arrive, watching the floor indicator above the door. Hand in pocket, cigarette in mouth, and deep in thought he was oblivious to the presence of three young women waiting on the other side of the ever-present vase of wilting flowers. At last the lift came and he stepped inside, carefully leaving plenty of space between himself and the very pretty young woman already inside.

Behind his retreating back and still waiting for a lift down, the young black woman gave an ecstatic sigh, “Who’s he?” she asked. “He’s lovely! What eyes, they seem so sad! What skin!”

“What an arse! In those tight trousers! Do you think he knows?” said the spotty one, clearly the youngest of the three. “Pert, round buttocks…” She was interrupted in full lust.

“You only think that because you’ve never worked for him!” said a tall blonde, tartly. “That’s Major von Eberbach, the scourge of NATO.”

“I never heard that he was so handsome, or so young!” said the black girl, consideringly.

“He’s a bastard,” said the blonde, “you should hear some of the things he says to his agents. He can be really unpleasant and for no reason. And as to being young, he’s older than he looks. If you ever feel the need to hear some really foul language just watch him when he’s mistaken for a youngster.”

“But he’s so pretty!”

“Oh, give it a rest!” said the blonde, irritatedly as the lift arrived at last.

“And what about him and Eroica? Is it true what they say?” The youngest secretary was not going to take the hint, had acquired a new obsession and continued talking as the lift doors closed.

A fundamental truth of going undercover is that the cover should be truth, at least as far as possible. It was possible that Major Eberbach would be so bowed down by guilt following his agents’ demise, that he sought a desk job. Possible, if unlikely. It was held to have more verisimilitude that he would be held responsible by NATO and sent to his own version of Alaska: England. The Chief felt that Alaska was too far from Bonn. That very distance was one of the things that the Major had found most appealing about it.

He knew the security of NATO’s operations were at stake, the incident with Major Hövermann proved that, but that could not make him like being sent to London in disgrace, and the idea that he could be turned or blackmailed was distinctly irritating. And if he were in disgrace what could a blackmailer want from him? It didn’t make much sense but he was too accustomed to obeying orders to question it too closely.

The NATO jet arrived at RAF Northolt, and the Major was to the NATO-London Intelligence HQ in a 1960’s office block called Euston Tower. Privately, the Major hated NATO-London’s idea of secure offices, it didn’t make sense to him to throw government offices into buildings apparently randomly, but on the one occasion he had mentioned it the English had intimated that it was none of his damn business – that they could run their own ‘show’ as they put it. ‘Not well enough,’ fumed the Major, ‘if it led to the deaths of my agents.’ He thought of them as his despite their secondment to Major Hövermann.

Colonel Cairns, his new Chief, was looking very dapper in a British Army uniform – at least as far as the Major could see, given that Cairns had his back to the door. Whatever Chief Schuster’s faults, and they were many, he didn’t keep tropical fish in his office. The Major waited impatiently for Cairns’ attention.

“You know,” said Cairns, “it’s taken me such a long time to get a working eco-system set up.”

For a moment the Major wondered what he was talking about, then he realised. The fish. Obviously much more important than NATO.

“There,” said Cairns, “all sorted. Welcome to England, Major. We’ve found an office for you, and a computer and…things.” He didn’t sound too sure what those might be. “I’m sure you’ll settle in and any…unpleasantness…will soon be forgotten.”

The Major remembered that only NATO-Bonn knew of his real assignment. To every other office his cover would be in place. He swallowed his irritation at Cairns’ attitude of near condescension. “Thank you, sir.”

“I understand…we’ve arranged somewhere for you to live, at least temporarily. My secretary will give you the details.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Take some time to get things sorted out.”

“Very well, sir.” That was that, his welcome to London. “Sir?” he asked, “can you recommend somewhere to shoot?” He knew this building didn’t have it’s own range, unlike the building in Bonn. It was another point against it and against London.

“Yes… I’ll be in touch with the details, I’m sure I can get you a membership.” Cairns sounded airy, but he looked dubious and the Major hoped that there wouldn’t be a problem. He was a field agent and he did need to keep up his skills.

He was shown to his office. It was on the 14th floor of the building and commanded a breathtaking view of London. It was very much more impressive than his office in Bonn, which looked out onto a car park. ‘But at least it is a German car park,’ thought the Major moodily.

Apparently, he now had a secretary and an assistant, though why was a mystery. He had read the job description for his new post, and privately thought that he could do it in three days a week. When he had mentioned this to Chief Schuster the Chief had said that was good, as an alcoholic he couldn’t make too much of a mess of it.

The most important job attached to his new post was the collection, when summoned, of documents from the GCHQ listening station near Cheltenham. These were specific documents which could be entrusted to neither the post nor the regular courier. It was exactly the sort of job which could be assigned to a field officer in disgrace, a trainee, or, the Major thought, gloomily, a reasonably well trained monkey.

He then analysed the information and passed on to the appropriate country and agency – with permissions and signatures where needed.

The aide was a medium height sandy-haired young man. “Hi,” he said, “I’m Peter Cruikshank.”

“Hello,” said the Major, shortly.

“You’ll want me to show you the ropes.”

“That would be kind of you.” It would. Kind, but quite unnecessary. Knowing it was expected, he was a stranger here, and a disgraced stranger at that, the Major put up with Cruikshank’s explanations with what he considered to be exemplary patience. As far as the Major could tell – and there was nothing he could put his finger on – Cruikshank was not best pleased to be demoted back to his old position. Time alone would tell if that was significant, but he filed the information away in his mind.

The secretary’s name plate read Advira Buchanan, but when she arrived back from lunch she said, “Call me Vera.” Her voice matched her face, friendly West Indian precision, combined with a motherliness which seemed odd – she was younger than the Major. He remembered the comparatively relaxed atmosphere in British offices. When first assigned to Britain – as a young tank commander he’d been sent to Wales to train – it had rather thrown him, being the opposite of what he had expected. Being called by his first name by subordinates had rubbed him up the wrong way then and it did now, and calling senior officers by their first name seemed lacking in respect. Colonel Cairns’ first name turned out to be Ian.

The small amount of luggage the Major had brought with him had been taken to his ‘new’ flat. For a moment he longed for Schloß Eberbach, which he immediately regretted, it wasn’t as if he was particularly welcome there. Homesickness was a weakness he could not afford.

Officers in disgrace were not treated as well as highly respected visitors, but it would be impolitic to actually insult someone of the Major’s rank. The flat was therefore nondescript, comfortable without being luxurious, though it did have cable TV. A large fireplace dominated the living room; there was no central heating, but that would be no hardship, any man who lived in a castle was accustomed to cold. The most obvious problem was the lack of a car park, especially as one glance out of the window showed how stupid it would be to park a car in Tavistock Place. The Major didn’t like being without a car, he’d have to do something about that.

He unpacked and then looked round, the flat appeared unchanged, he made no impression on his surroundings. He wondered if he should rent his own place, he could be here for some time.

The Major knew London fairly well – as he knew the capital cities of most NATO member nations – but it was not his home. It would not be true, either, to say he had favourite places, Iron Klaus did not allow himself such indulgences. However he did know places in London where it was possible to get a decent meal. He checked his gun, he was one of the few foreigners allowed to carry one in the face of the increasingly tough gun laws favoured by the British, and put it away in his ankle holster.

He took another look at the manila folder containing his briefing papers. The blackmail victims so far identified seemed to have few things in common but one seemed obvious, all of them were either members of a private drinking club or had been there as guests of members. That would be a logical place to start. The papers had included an introductory membership, a thoughtful touch for which the Major failed to be grateful. He put the papers back in the wall safe and locked it.

The Major looked at his watch, no alcoholic started the evening at an expensive club like Georgioni’s. He had to fill in the time until the local public houses shut and he wondered what he should do in the meantime. He needed a car. It wasn’t in the Major’s makeup to be careful with NATO’s funds, as many fares to Alaska were testimony, but he charged the car hire with particular pleasure. Then he rented a parking space under a hotel in Southampton Row.

With nothing else to do, he walked to Soho choosing a restaurant at random. He had noticed that he was being followed; but there was no reason why he shouldn’t be, he planned nothing more exciting than dinner and they were welcome to watch him eat that.

Eroica was busy. The party had started on time, though he was fashionably late. An elderly and influential politician was holding this soirée for a new and exciting young artist. It was a glittering social affair and Eroica was making himself a highlight of it; although he couldn’t be less interested in the work of the young artist in question, it was the collection of the elderly politician which had drawn him.

He held a glass of excellent still champagne, and smiled at the young woman on his left, “And what did you say to him?” he asked, casually flirting. He knew she was attracted to him, she was, after all, only human and who could resist his charms?

“Dorian! You only want to know so you can tell!” the young woman sounded delighted. She knew him only by his real name, of course.

“Not true!” protested Eroica, cheerfully.

There was a tap on his arm, “Gloria?”

Eroica turned and smiled at the newcomer, a white haired man with a ready smile. “Yes? Oh, it’s you! McNaughton, how nice! It’s been such a long time!”

McNaughton grinned, “You look well, Gloria. My daughter has been asking why you haven’t been to see us. I would think she had hopes, but she’s too old for you!”

Eroica flicked back his long blond hair and laughed. Lady Dora McNaughton was almost old enough to be his mother.

McNaughton said, “Gloria, I’d like to present my old friend Mr Geoffrey Rankin from Iowa. Geoffrey, this is Lord Dorian Gloria, the Earl of Gloria.”

“Mr. Rankin,” Eroica shook hands with the newcomer, cheerfully. He reflected that this businessman didn’t quite look McNaughton’s type, but the need for funds drove the aristocracy to make strange friends. He resisted the temptation to wipe his hand on the seat of his well-cut trousers; Rankin’s grip was clammy and somehow cold.

“Lord Gloria.” Rankin said in a disapproving tone. Eroica could have sighed, people who took an instant dislike to his flamboyance were so tiresome. There was a cool silence.

McNaughton said, “Dorian has a place north of London, I think his castle is one of the closest to London that’s not owned by the Royal Family.”

Rankin said, “Oh.” He didn’t sound all that interested and McNaugton looked rather desperate.

Eroica asked, “Are you here on business or pleasure, Mr. Rankin?” He wasn’t really interested, but he was doing his best to help.

“Business. I’m moving my communications network into Europe.”

Despite his desire to assist an old friend, Eroica couldn’t think of anything else to say, and excused himself as quickly as he could. In any case he mustn’t lose sight of why he was here.

He slipped away from the party and made his way along the upper floors of the house to the bedrooms. He could hear the sound of a courting couple – though this particular couple seemed to have got well beyond the courting stage – and hoped his quarry wasn’t in that particular bedroom. He was lucky, the master bedroom was unoccupied and the pictures he’d come for were hidden behind a curtain, no doubt so that their temporary owner could enjoy them in private.

Eroica smiled. ‘What a coup,’ he thought. ‘Thank goodness for that friend of James’ at the Dresdner Bank in Stuttgart. Without him, I’d never have known about the letter of guarantee, and without that letter I’d never have known these were being sold.’

A Manet and a van Gogh, both stolen, both therefore illegally owned. Eroica was justifiably jubilant, these he would be able to keep. He checked for wires and gently removed them, then took the paintings down, wrapping them carefully in the curtain. ‘He’ll never be able to report the theft of something he shouldn’t have had in the first place,’ thought Eroica. ‘That’s one of the pleasures of stealing from the influential, having a position to keep up concentrates the mind wonderfully.

‘And I wonder what would happen if people knew about his connections with Arab arms dealers?’

With the pictures in his arms he slipped down the corridors listening for noises above the ones drifting up from the party downstairs. The courting couple seemed to have finished courting, which was a small mercy, though he hoped they weren’t getting dressed prior to rejoining the rest of the revellers.

He made his way to a small bathroom at the back of the house; he wouldn’t have known it existed if he hadn’t visited this house as a small child, but it was still there and still had an aura of underuse. His backup was there, Jones this time rather than the faithful Bonham who was busy elsewhere. Eroica slipped the paintings out of the window into Jones’ waiting arms.

That done, he rejoined the party; after all an alibi was a useful thing to have, just in case. McNaugton seemed to have rid himself of the thoroughly unpleasant Mr. Rankin, and Eroica made his way over. McNaughton looked relieved, he said, “Gloria, what is one to do?” He sounded protesting – and desperate.

“I don’t know. I wish I could help.”

“Perhaps I’ll win that new lottery thing,” said McNaugton without much hope.

Eroica laughed, ”Perhaps!”


	2. Chapter 2

Major Eberbach’s mood had worsened. He stomped through the streets of London, the pavements held responsible for his presence in this God-forsaken country. Concrete casualties were kept to a minimum, the Major’s sense of direction took him to the club by the shortest route.

Once outside Georgioni’s, the Major assessed the building; it was exactly what he’d expected, a discreet doorway, no sign, no advertising. It was not a place to encourage passing trade; one only found out about it by discreet word of mouth and the owners didn’t believe in mundane matters like closing times or entertainment licenses. The Major ground his teeth. Anywhere that needed to hide itself like this was bound to contain perversions of a revolting nature. A cheerful thought passed through the Major’s mind, ‘Perhaps when all this is over I can lead a raid on this den of vice and close it down.’

As pleasant as these imaginations were, however, they changed nothing. Major Eberbach still had to enter and pose as an alcoholic, a disgraceful creature unable to control his baser urges. It disgusted him. The Major accepted that life in NATO was often difficult and he’d been sent on worse missions but he still hated it. At least Eroica was not involved, unlikely to become involved and could be ignored if he did become involved. That thought stopped the Major in his tracks, what on earth had made him think of that pervert? Suppressing a shiver the Major knocked on the door, waited for it to be opened, then entered.

In the shadows, Bonham took off his false beard, made a note of the address and then spoke quietly into a mobile phone.

Ignoring the doorman the Major looked round the bar, the inside was as discreet as the outside. Muted lighting and many booths made it difficult to see who else was there. His dislike intensified, definitely a hotbed for perversions and insubordination. If any of his agents ever came to a place like this they would be quickly booked on a flight to Alaska. The Major sat down in the booth the servile waiter led him to, ordered a drink and a time for each subsequent one to appear.

His entrance was noticed, though most were too wrapped up in their own sorrows or joys to pay any attention, a young man with shoulder length, brown curly hair was watching. He had an excellent memory for faces, and not coincidentally he just happened to be perfectly positioned to watch every new customer enter if he even slightly looked up from his diligently nursed drink.

Major Eberbach planned his evening and his week. Take it slow, come here for a few evenings, drink heavily – he had a flask to pour the excess alcohol into – create a scene after a few days. If the blackmailers were observing this place they would think Major Eberbach had a drinking problem, and might single him out as a potential mark.

The Major lowered his head to his hands. Word was bound to get out, rumours would dog his career for years but it was his job. The Major repeatedly told himself that he didn’t care what others said. He was used to being unpopular, even at Schloß Eberbach, he was unwelcome. His servants rejoiced when he left and were terrified of an early return. He always reckoned that if he was talked about as an authoritarian martinet then so much the better. The gossips would then have warning of the standards he expected.

Suddenly, just as the evening was shaping up to be merely a standard miserable experience, the Major heard a voice behind him that caused both his blood to turn to ice and a wave of physical pleasure to pass through him. Not that he recognised it as such, of course.

“Darling! How wonderful to see you!” said Eroica, joyfully. “I didn’t know you were in London.”

‘Ignore it and pray he’s talking to somebody else,’ the Major thought.

Unfortunately for the Major the owner of the voice sat down in the booth opposite him. The Major looked up. Nothing about Eroica had changed. The blond hair was as full as ever, the skin as smooth, the eyes as turquoise blue, the figure as tall and slender, the mouth as tempting. The Major took a deep breath. ‘No!’ The whole was as perverted and shallow as Eroica had ever been.

The Major narrowed his eyes and gave his personal demon the fiercest glare he could summon up and, although the varnish on the wooden partition behind Eroica was in danger of blistering, the object of the hostility remained completely unharmed. In fact he seemed to drink in the glare, possibly even enjoying the attention of his beloved Major. The Major wished he were in charge of his destiny and could leave instantly, but it was his duty to stay regardless of the company.

“Are you pleased to see me?” asked Eroica, a trifle too archly.

“No,” said the Major, fiercely, wishing it were true.

Eroica didn’t look downhearted. He said, “Well, never mind. I’m pleased to see you. Are you enjoying London?”

“No!”

“Have you tried the Chinese food here? It’s so much better than the terrible stuff in Germany. I know a really good restaurant…I could take you there!”

“No!”

“Why not?”

He didn’t want to talk to Eroica, but it looked inevitable. “I don’t want to be seen with you. You’ll spoil everything, you usually do.”

Now Eroica looked a trifle hurt. “That’s not true, Major. You know it isn’t.”

“Isn’t it?” The Major wasn’t in a mood to spare anyone’s feelings, least of all Eroica’s. Assuming he had any.

“Listen, you frigging queer, you deliberately ruin any mission you’re involved in! You blunder about…”

“Major! I do not blunder!” Eroica said, flicking back a lock of his hair. “When have I ever done that?”

The Major was not in a mood to be reasonable. “You’ve been destroying my life ever since I met you. Stay out of my affairs, or…”

“Or what? What are you threatening me with? What will you do if I don’t?”

The Major wanted an answer so blazing it would drive Eroica from the bar and his life. None came, and he just glared again. Eroica remained uninjured.

Changing his tone and sounding almost conciliatory, Eroica leaned forward and whispered, “You don’t want me to leave, you know you don’t.”

“You’re wrong.”

”No.”

“You’re wrong!” The Major said, louder.

“No! I’m right and you know it!” Eroica paused and leant back coyly adjusting his hair, he enjoyed watching the Major struggle for words. “You want me, and you just don’t want to admit it to yourself!”

Eroica’s honeyed voice pushed the Major over the edge and his English deserted him in his rage. “Das ist nicht wahr! Du bist ein Lügner, ich hasse dich, ich habe dich immer gehasst!” he shouted.

“Nein!” Eroica had clearly had to pause to translate. “Du belügst dich nur selbst!”

Without conscious thought the Major picked up the table and tipped it over, spilling the drinks over Eroica. He had rarely before seen Eroica look so much as crumpled, the resulting mess was impressive and – shaming. “You only chase me because you know it’s impossible! You’re too selfish to ever handle a real relationship!” The Major screamed at the stunned thief. He turned on his heel and stormed out. His last memory of the encounter was Eroica’s horrified expression and he was obscurely pleased.

Eroica sat for a moment gathering himself, then rose as gracefully as he could in the circumstances and dripped his way towards the door. Reaching the anteroom he whirled to face the bar and in a close approximation of his usual airy manner, he said, “Sorry for the interruption, darlings,” and left. He felt like a bird of paradise left out in the rain.

The man in the camel hair coat watched the blond leave. ‘A lover’s tiff,’ he thought, ‘what an entertaining way to brighten up an otherwise boring evening. I know that dark haired man, and tomorrow I’ll make further inquires to make sure it is who I think it is.’

If the Major had hoped that a night’s rest would distance him from the debacle of the evening before then he was disappointed. Sleep had given him dreams filled with disturbing images; images of blond hair and turquoise blue eyes, images which he refused to understand. The morning found him tired and in an even worse mood.

He was still furious over the scene in Georgioni’s. Furious at Eroica for turning up and potentially ruining his mission, furious at himself for once again being unable to control his own behaviour whenever that impossible man was present, furious at life for thrusting them together, furious at the blackmailers for existing and causing him to be sent to the same benighted country as that pervert and finally furious at his Chief for assigning him to this torture.

Breakfast, instead of relieving his anger, only reminded him of all the other things that infuriated him: English food; being away from his castle; not being in Germany; being on this mission. The Major started pacing round the bland flat, and contemplated taking his fury out on the fixtures and fittings. Fortunately for the furnishings the Major remembered the firing range recommended to him by the unpleasant creature that masqueraded as his NATO boss here. It was an operative’s duty to ensure that his skills did not deteriorate and as it wouldn’t interfere with his mission he could regain his calm that way. Picking up the phone he called the office.

“Hello, NATO HQ, Vera Buchanan speaking.”

To the Major, she sounded irritatingly cheerful. “It’s Major Eberbach, don’t expect me in today.”

“Where can I tell callers that you’ll be?”

“Unavailable.”

There was a pause then Vera said, “But GCHQ called. They need you to collect a consignment.”

“Very well, I’ll go this afternoon.”

Dissatisfied with the conversation the Major set off for the range to regain his composure. As the Major arrived his heart sank, unfortunately this was not just a plain and respectable range designed to improve the skills of operatives, it was also some kind of social arena. The Major’s infamous temper threatened to erupt but he managed to calm himself, once inside he could lose himself in the concentration of trying to attain the perfect shot. Distractions caused mistakes and the Major hated mistakes.

For once the Major had been perceptive, this range was one of the most prestigious in NATO. The waiting time to shoot could be weeks, he was lucky to get in so soon. Training courses on new weapons were often scheduled around its availability and many an organiser was disappointed and forced to look elsewhere.

The reasons for its popularity were many and various; the range itself was wide, long and well lit, the armoury had a selection of weapons that even the Major considered impressive, the armourer’s knowledge of weaponry and his charm impressed all who encountered him, and finally, the most important feature – the bar. It was on the floor above the range and overlooked it on three sides, giving an impressive view of who was shooting and their score, which was also relayed by monitors. The fourth balconied side looked out on to a lake, forested hillsides and paths through the trees were visible. The bar was well stocked and the manager took pride in rarely having to refuse a customer their choice of drink and certainly never twice.

The Major registered and his rank, coupled with his visiting status, allowed him to shoot immediately. The Major noted the clientele the range attracted, and he was deliberately ungracious and certainly showed no appreciation of the latitude allowed him. At least the armoury, where he had to register his gun as fit for practise, did meet with his approval. Momentarily cheered by the idea of testing out a few weapons that even he did not manage to use often, the Major donned a pair of ear defenders and walked to his assigned lane.

Initially, the Major was satisfied. His idea was working out well, his mood was improving and he concentrated on the target.

Above, his excellent shooting attracted notice and a few people moved to see who was responsible. The Major’s trademark style, one handed with a Magnum, immediately identified him, and those who thought it an affectation rather than a practical way to shoot were surprised at the score. Many had heard of “Iron Klaus” and the name ran quickly round the room, and some craned to see the man famous for his uncompromising and dangerous reputation.

One woman was surprised and turned to her neighbour, “I never heard he was so attractive; from the stories I assumed he would be old and grizzled.”

Immediately the group warmed to a favourite topic. “Then,” said the man to her left, “you are behind with the gossip. And, I’ve heard our pretty Major here has attracted the attention of Eroica…”  
“The art thief?” said the woman, excitedly, “How? And who is Eroica? Do you know?”


	3. Chapter 3

Fortunately for the man above, the Major could not hear the tale and continued shooting, oblivious to the interest he’d aroused.

‘Here,’ he thought, ‘I can have complete control, no supremely irritating pervert tempting me. No distractions.’

The Major’s shot went wild. Unwilling to recall the thoughts and desperate to erase their memory, he decided he needed a greater challenge than using a gun he knew so well. He needed something unfamiliar, something that required all his attention. Returning to the armoury he selected and booked out an arsenal of rather lethal automatic weaponry.

Back in his lane the Major handled the first lovingly. ‘This requires skill and concentration to fire accurately,’ he thought happily and recommenced his practise.

However, after a very short acquaintance, this instrument of destruction began to return the Major’s affection, moulding itself to his body, becoming an extension of his being. Never before had the Major’s empathy with guns been a disadvantage. As firing became instinctive, the scores very quickly impressive, the higher levels of his mind which should remain blank and calm were filled up with distracting thoughts from the previous night. Memories of how Eroica moved, contemplation of how he would move in more private encounters, secret admiration of Eroica’s cunning and guile. Suppressed desires sought an outlet and the pressure built up the Major, he was helpless to prevent it, the need burned through his veins.

He sought for control, demanded that his mind be as submissive as the weapons, but the feelings were powerful, pent up for too long they exploded as white hot rage. The target was no longer just concentric circles but a face, and a very familiar one: the face of the man who was destroying his fragile peace of mind without even being present. The Major wanted his life back and to get it he had to rid himself of this demon.

Switching to rapid fire, he changed clips and threw them to the floor as soon as they were exhausted. The Major screamed curses in his frustration and fury, a stream of lead and profanities flew towards the target. Startled by the automatic fire and high decibel German, some of the other occupants of the range looked for the cause and had early warning of the impending danger. The support behind the Major’s target was designed to absorb bullets but under such a barrage the inner ring first buckled inwards then gave way and the following rounds ricocheted off at unpredictable angles. Shrapnel sliced through neighbouring targets and impacted on the bullet proof glass of the bar above. Metal bounced back to the firing line and shooting ceased as marksmen and observers alike dived for cover or scurried for the door.

“Stop firing! Stop firing!” The armourer screamed above the racket, trying to get the Major’s attention. Getting no response he jumped over his counter and ran towards the oblivious man. A brave man, he got halfway there before he was forced to duck and hide behind a barrier. Finally, miraculously untouched by the ricochets, the Major ran out of ammunition. Disgusted, he threw the last empty clip to the floor, tore off the ear defenders and surveyed the devastation. Then, picking up his Magnum and clearing a path before him with his 1000W glare, he left. No-one stood in his way or insisted he check out.

This incident was bound to be a favourite topic of conversation in NATO, if not in world law enforcement circles, for weeks, and one young man, drinking with friends in the bar, made careful mental notes of the Major’s outburst as he and his companions stared after the retreating Major.

The Major fled to his car, and drove like a madman until he was miles away from the scene of his disgrace. He pulled into a lay-by on the dual carriageway and he rested his head on the steering wheel. Slowly his breathing returned to normal and his heart no longer raced. He sat back, lit a cigarette and drew in the smoke. At last he was calm, the aim of his trip realised. The outburst, excessive even for him, had burnt up some of the devouring rage. He felt more in control of himself than he had since meeting Eroica the evening before. He could even justify his actions in the context of his mission. Given enough time to calm down he would even be able to justify it to his Chief.

If the blackmailers were after the higher echelons of NATO then the range was an ideal place to stake out. Comforted, and pretending that his overreaction was not due to frustration over a blond thief, but yet another humiliation in the line of duty, the Major rejoined the traffic and headed for Cheltenham.

It started to rain and the downpour obscured the English countryside making the drive somewhat irksome. At the main gate he showed his pass and he was admitted. The desks inside were the same design as those at Euston Tower. It came as no surprise that the British government furnished all its offices from the same cheapskate supplier.

Colonel Dalgliesh checked his papers again before handing over the first batch of documents. “Here you are, Major von Eberbach.”

“Thank you,” replied the Major. He knew politeness was expected of him but resented it all the same.

“Are you enjoying your secondment from Germany, Major? I’m sorry the weather’s not better…”

“I didn’t come here for the weather,” grated the Major.

“No, of course not.” Colonel Dalgliesh looked slightly taken aback.

“Is there anything else you need to tell me?”

“No… Would you care for tea perhaps?”

“No. Thank you. I will return to London immediately.”

“Oh,” said Dalgliesh. He sounded a trifle disappointed. “Very well, Major. Safe journey.”

On the road back to London the Major had to admit that it had not been one of his better conversations. Colonel Dalgliesh was not the useless old fart Chief Schuster was, and nor was Cairns. And irritating though Cairns’ eccentricities were, as far as anyone here knew he was in disgrace, he had already behaved badly and he might do well to remember it.

A man waited behind an impressive desk. “So. Do you have anything that’s going to make me happy?” he said

“How about control over ‘Iron Klaus’,” his visitor was trying to sound cool and almost succeeding. This was a coup indeed.

The seated man leaned back in his chair and smiled. “That would be both a business opportunity and a very real pleasure. So what did you observe?”

“It looks like Iron Klaus has started something he shouldn’t have and it’s driving him to drink. He came into Georgioni’s looking like he was trying to forget and what he was trying to forget followed him. As reconciliations go it wasn’t much of a success if the screaming was anything to judge by. Today’s fireworks at the range were quite a show as well, I hear. He’s behaving like a man obsessed.”

Both men smiled, gleeful at the prospect of a new conquest. The chase was always the most interesting part of the job. The sitting man wondered if the Major would play hard to get. “I hope you live up to your reputation, Iron Klaus, it would make having you in my power so much more enjoyable.”

The Major arrived back in London; he drove along Euston Road, past the railway station meaning to leave his car in the car park under the hotel in Southampton Row and go back to his flat. The clock on the dashboard showed 15:22 in unfriendly grey. The traffic was as terrible as usual, but his morning’s outburst kept him calm, even he could only summon up so much rage in one day. The Major wanted to change lanes for the junction ahead but a white van consistently refused to let him through. ‘Oh, to be on an autobahn,’ he thought. He slowed for the lights at the junction at Euston Road and Upper Woburn Place, drawing up behind a dark blue car, still in the wrong lane for the turn.

“Verdammter LKW!” he shouted, glaring at the vehicle responsible for his difficulties. The van was just ahead of him and exactly where he wanted to be, first at the lights and in the correct lane. Annoyed, he tried to manoeuvre into a better position, but it was pretty hopeless. At least the road ahead was clear, he might just have to go all the way to Kings Cross and back.

Suddenly the side door of the van slid open and a mortar appeared. The Major grabbed his briefcase, threw open the car door, rolled to take cover behind the car beside his and stood to aim his gun at the van. But he was not the target, the dark blue car had taken a direct hit and exploded, and the van, with a squeal of tyres, had already driven off against the red light.

The Major tracked the moving vehicle, but scared pedestrians and cars swerving across the junction ruined his aim, and the chance of hitting a civilian was too great for him to shoot. The Major swore, started to give chase on foot, but the van was already gone. He put the gun away, took out his mobile phone and called the police while surveying the devastation. The dark blue car was burning, there was no hope of anyone being alive in that. A red Mini had crashed into a black Ford, the driver looked stunned and a young woman wept copiously. His Mercedes had taken a lot of damage from being so close to the explosion. ‘Without a car again so soon! Now I’m going to have to deal with those idiots from the car hire again.’ Today, just when it had seemed impossible for his life to get any worse, it had.

Much later, after the police had wasted several hours of his time, he walked back to his office. His car, a complete write-off, had been towed away. The hire company promised a replacement soon, the young lady at the desk was shocked at the cause of the problem. ‘I don’t see how they can blame me, I wasn’t even the target,’ the Major moped.

Determined to complete his day’s tasks regardless of circumstances, he opened his briefcase and checked through the documents he had been given. The nature of his job meant that few were exactly routine, but though secret little of the information was unexpected. And NATO spied on allies as well as enemies. Friends may be supposed to tell each other everything, but Nations are seldom that friendly. ‘Even,’ the Major thought to himself, ‘the idiot Americans.’

The Major sighed, tiredly. Now that his cover job was complete he still had his mission to attend to, another night at Georgioni’s to be endured. Though tonight the alcohol would certainly be welcome, even he considered today to have been trying, and some relaxation was called for.

The next morning found the Major in similar spirits. At breakfast, while he prepared himself for another day of misery and humiliation, the telephone rang, and the Major looked at it. He was annoyed and he didn’t want to think about work. Right now, he didn’t want to think about anything. The telephone rang again and the Major answered it angrily.

“How do you always manage to be at the centre of the excitement, Major?” Chief Schuster asked. The Major scowled, of all the people he didn’t want to hear from the Chief was at the top of his list.

“I wasn’t. If I had been, I’d’ve been dead.” the Major assumed he was referring to the mortar attack.

“Did they tell you who was in the car?”

“Yes. In the end.”

“Lord McNaughton.”

“They said the McNaughton of McNaughton. Didn’t mean anything to me, should it have done?”

“No, he rarely interested himself in – ah – ‘Foreign Affairs’. I just wondered if you knew.”

“Is that all?” the Major knew he sounded wary.

“No, how’s the mission going?”

“Well enough.”

“Have the blackmailers made contact?”

“Not yet.” the Major also knew that this was no sort of report.

“Did you enjoy your visit to the range?”

“Sir?” In less than twenty-four hours the Chief had heard about that? Intelligence gossip was as fast as any other, and a good deal faster than official channels. He shouldn’t really be surprised. “I was trying to attract attention, it seemed a good way.”

The Chief chuckled, fatly. “I suppose it was. It seems to have been successful, we have information that the blackmailers are about to make contact.”

“Good. the sooner I can return to Germany the better.”

“Yes.” the Chief chuckled again. “If you can bear to leave your lover.”

The Major was momentarily speechless. “Lover?” he said.

“Yes, Major. You made a bit of a mess somewhere. Your blackmailers don’t think you’re an alcoholic.” There was a pause. “They think you’re a homosexual.”

The Major choked. “What! How?”

The Chief sounded almost coy, “You’ve been meeting pretty art thieves in bars.”

“I didn’t….” the Major gasped for air.

“So….”

“Sir!”

“So, you’d better be convincing, Major. We need to catch those blackmailers.”

“Sir!” protested the Major, but his Chief had rung off. At first the Major was immobilised by shock, then he slammed the phone down, wishing the Chief’s head was under it. Next he prowled around the flat, chain smoking. Many times he lit a cigarette to discard it instantly and light another. While the gently smoking ashtrays filled up the Major thought it through. There must be some way to avoid this; he didn’t want to admit it, but he was panicking.  
At last a plan occurred to him: fly to Germany and beg to be reassigned.


	4. Chapter 4

Inside his Chief’s office, however, it didn’t seem like such a good idea, but he was desperate and out of options. Never before had Klaus Heinz von Eberbach asked to be taken off a mission.

He sat on the uncomfortable leather chair and finished his begging speech. “Chief, you said yourself my cover story has been compromised, I must be reassigned. I can recommend someone to take over.”

The Chief blew out his moustaches. He picked up his pipe from the ashtray on his desk and lit it. He said: “Then maybe you should recommend someone to take over all your missions.”

The Major knew that the Chief was eager to get rid of him, was enjoying his discomfort. He longed for a cigarette from the pack on the Chief’s desk; they were some strong filterless English brand with a sailor on the packet, he could taste them from where he was sitting.

The Chief went on, “If you can’t handle the pressure of NATO operations, maybe you should consider a career change; I can’t use an operative who runs away when the going gets tough. I need to be able to trust my agents in the field. You can’t keep running to me and expect me to sort out your little problems. This is the behaviour of an agent who has obviously burnt out.” He paused, “I could find you a desk job. In Alaska.”

The Major considered the ‘opportunity’ he was presented with. “I’ll need to think about it,” he said. It was the desk job he objected to, not Alaska.

“Don’t think too long.”

The Major was back in London the next day. He paced the flat not knowing what to do, a mood entirely unlike him. He knew he must call Eroica, but he was putting it off. He threw himself on the inoffensively beige sofa, switched on the television, and he tuned to CNN. A bland-looking American anchorman – lots of teeth, a bright tie and a shiny suit – turned to face the viewer. “….the murder of William Temple at his Beverley Hills home. Mr. Temple’s sad death has caused a great deal of speculation, he was the author of the controversial novel ‘The Sun and Thirteen Cantons’, and has been under a fatwa for some six years.” A short film ran of some people burning books. The studio reappeared and the anchorman continued, “His wife was interviewed outside the home of their mutual friend Lady Dora McNaughton, whose father was also recently murdered…” the camera’s pitiless gaze homed in on a dumpy dark-haired woman with reddened eyes.

The Major watched, mindlessly. It was better than thinking. He felt like a broken man, and he remembered the Chief’s self-satisfied smile with a shudder. He picked up the phone and dialled Eroica’s number. Before it was answered the Major had put the receiver down. He couldn’t do it.

He lit a cigarette. He was Major Klaus Heinz von Eberbach, he had never before failed in a mission and he wasn’t about to start now. Renewed in purpose, he switched off the television and once again picked up the phone.

“Lord Gloria’s residence.” The Major recognised the voice of Peters, Eroica’s butler.

“I want to speak to Eroica.”

“Sir? Who is Eroica?”

The Major knew that Peters must have recognised him by now. “Don’t waste my time! Get me Eroica!”

It took a few moments but eventually Eroica spoke. All he said was, “Major?” Once again the Major felt that rush of pleasure. It was instantly suppressed.

“NATO needs your co-operation.” It pained the Major to admit it.

“But darling, you said I always ruin your missions.” Eroica almost cooed.

“And you already have!”

“Then surely you don’t want me to make it worse!”

The Major took a deep breath. “Listen, you pervert! Because of you some blackmailers think we’re having an affair. I need to catch them. If you had a shred of decency in your degenerate soul you’d help.”

“Darling! That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me!”

“Is that a yes, or a no?”

“You know I can never say no to you, Major! What’s in it for me?”

The Major was momentarily silenced. Despite his claims of love, Eroica never did anything for the Major’s sake alone, and he had temporarily forgotten that. It hurt, although he couldn’t understand why. He said, “I’m sure I can negotiate a job fee.”

“And for my support team?”

The Major sighed, and assessed how much he needed Eroica. “For them too.”

“Good! Then I will be pleased to help. What do you want me to do?”

Being seen in public with Eroica was as embarrassing as the Major had expected it would be. Georgioni’s was much the same, and it was obvious they hadn’t been forgotten because as they entered the barman gave them a suspicious glare. The Major half expected to be thrown out, but his order for whisky was filled, as was Eroica’s. He scowled, he hated the position he found himself in, it was insupportable. This couldn’t be expected of any self-respecting agent.

Eroica smiled at him, cheerful and vivacious as usual. The Major wondered if anything were capable of making a dent in the man’s self-satisfaction. It hardly seemed fair that such a selfish and shallow person could be so physically lovely.

Eroica looked up from his drink, “I’m bored with this place, Major. How about going to a nightclub?”

“No!”

“I had an idea you’d say something like that. You’re not very adventurous.” The Earl smiled, teasingly.

“I’m adventurous, just not perverted.”

“I don’t think us just sitting here is all that convincing.”

The Major stood suddenly, tired of the argument. “If it’ll shut you up, let’s go.”

Emerging from Super Trooper, Eroica led the Major up a dark alleyway, it was the shortest route to where Jones waited in the car. Suddenly, where it was darkest, the Major caught up, grabbed Eroica by the elbow and threw him hard against the brick wall.

“You queer! You knew! You fucking knew!”

Eroica found himself eye to eye with a furious German. ‘Oh! No more bruises! I wish he’d find less physical ways to get my attention!’ Eroica thought. He decided to be conciliatory, he’d always found that the Major in this mood was injurious to his health. “Knew what?”

“You chose the worst fucking night club in London! You knew I would hate it and you took me there anyway! You’re enjoying this, to you it’s some sort of sick perverted game. Some delightful revenge on me. Why haven’t you asked the KGB to send a man to watch and really make my job hell? This is a NATO mission and because you couldn’t keep your frigging nose out of my business I’m forced to spent time in your perverted company and you’d better start helping rather than hindering my mission!”

“But Major, to make our reconciliation convincing for the blackmailers I had to take you somewhere I’d normally go, and that is my favourite club.” Eroica tried to sound reasonable.

“Shut the fuck up, you queer! Don’t try and pretend you give a damn about my mission you’re just enjoying my misery!” The Major slammed Eroica against the wall again and pinned him to it.

“On the contrary, Major,” said Eroica trying to remain calm and mostly succeeding. “I’ve long been trying to give everyone the impression that we’re having an affair. It’s you who doesn’t seem to be able to put aside personal feelings and do your job properly.” He gave the Major his most dazzling smile and the full force of his charm. He didn’t expect it to work, it hadn’t so far. Eroica was bruised, and getting angry. The evening had been a disaster, and, despite his best efforts, he was no nearer bedding this man than he had ever been and the frustration ate at him.

“Damn you!” shouted the Major.

“You’d better stop damning me and put up a more convincing show. You could end up stuck in London with me forever.” Eroica couldn’t defeat the Major physically but he could make him smart in other ways. It was some small revenge for being denied the man he wanted, Eroica was rarely denied anything.

The Major backed off a little, his eyes smouldering and Eroica prepared himself to be either hit or dragged to the waiting car. ‘Either would at least signal an end to this horrible evening.’ Eroica felt the Major grip his head in both hands. ‘Oh no, he’s going to bash my head against the wall!’ Eroica thought, before the Major roughly pulled his head up and then kissed him, hard. Eroica was stunned, unable to respond properly or take in what was happening, he felt the Major’s mouth, tasted his cigarettes; the pressure was hard on his lips. He was breathless, but before he could open his mouth to respond he was alone.

Eroica pressed his hand to the wall he had been so recently intimate with and calmed himself. ‘Did the Major just kiss me or did he just knock my head against the wall so hard that it made me hallucinate?’ Eroica waited until his breathing had steadied and his heart slowed then he continued towards his car. He felt as if he’d just jumped an enormous hurdle, and as he walked he smiled, fondly touching his lips and recalling every moment of the rough embrace.


	5. Chapter 5

Major Klaus Heinz von Eberbach had retreated; that was almost unheard-of. He took a circuitous route back to his flat, he walked: he wanted peace to think. He wasn’t sure why he’d kissed Eroica, but he told himself that it had been for the sake of the mission. It hadn’t been because he’d wanted to and had for some time. No, he’d done it because the blackmailers needed something to blackmail him with.

‘Please, please let them have been watching, so I need never do it again.’ He hadn’t kissed Eroica because watching those men dancing with each other had made him feel – odd. No, they had nothing to do with it, how could they? How could they behave as if what they were doing was normal, something they needn’t be ashamed of? He certainly hadn’t wanted to join them, especially not when Eroica had taken to the floor. Eroica, the bane of his life, had spent most of the evening trying to persuade him out onto the dance floor. Obviously he’d had no success, and finally getting the message Eroica had danced alone.

Well, not alone for long. Eroica had dazzled and had spent his entire time rejecting partners. What had he felt when Eroica had returned to their table? It must have been annoyance for having been left alone so long in that hellhole. Strangers had come up to him and made revolting suggestions. Yes, it must have been revulsion, not lust or need.

Anyway, whatever it had been, it had nothing to do with him kissing that pervert. That had been for the sake of the mission. But why had he done it? ‘For the sake of the mission. I did it for the sake of the mission. I did it for the sake of the mission’ He kept that thought revolving around in his head, attempting to make it form a barrier between him and the rest of the world. Eventually he made it back to his flat, no more confident in his reasons than he had been when he had left the alleyway.

The Major entered the flat cautiously, with his gun out. He was sure he’d turned out all the lights before he left. He had, when he opened the door of the living room he saw that the light wasn’t the brightness of electricity but the restful atmosphere of candles. Someone had also lit the fire.

Only one person would break into his flat to light candles, and he put his gun down on seeing him. “Eroica,” he said, pleased to hear that he sounded calm. “What are you doing here?”

“Why, waiting for you of course? Why else would I be in your flat?”

“Don’t push me too far, Eroica!”

“Or what, dear Herr Major? You’ll walk out on your mission?” Eroica was pushing the Major. He always seemed to push the Major. “I don’t believe that.”

“Why did you say it, then? Eroica, leave me alone.”

Eroica said nothing, and swirled the brandy round in his glass. The Major noticed that he’d lost no time in making himself at home. The Major turned away and looked moodily out of the window onto the street below. He wanted to throw Eroica out, but how?

“What happens now?” asked Eroica.

“We go on with the mission.” What else was there to do? The Major watched a car drive past. It had started to rain, and the lights made a yellow splash on the wet road.

“That’s all that matters to you, isn’t it? Your mission?”

“Yes,” said the Major. Cold, factual.

“Prove it!” said Dorian, stepping over to him.

”What?”

“Prove we’re having an affair. Prove to them, to everyone that your mission means more to you than anything.” Dorian put his hand on Klaus’ arm.

“How?” The Major demanded.

“Sleep with me.”

“What!” The Major turned back to face Dorian.

“Sleep with me. Have sex with me. Now.”

“You’re mad.” Eroica must be mad to make such a suggestion. The Major ignored his own feelings.

“Yes! If you say so.”

The Major grabbed Eroica…Dorian…by the upper arms. For a moment he stared into Dorian’s beautiful turquoise eyes, wondering at himself, then he leaned forward gripping even tighter and covered Dorian’s mouth with his own. Almost brutally he forced Dorian’s mouth open with his tongue, tasting the brandy, smelling it. He felt Dorian relax, melt into the embrace, oddly this made him more violent. If Dorian loved him as he said he did then he could take what was dished out.

He felt Dorian move against him, for a moment he was puzzled, then he realised that Dorian was struggling out of his clothes – or trying to. The Major let go, and Dorian smiled at him, somewhat shakily. “Does that mean you want me?”

The Major didn’t reply, instead he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. All he could taste was Dorian and brandy, his mind seemed to be full of Dorian, only Dorian had any reality.

Dorian smiled again, more confident this time. “Shall I tempt you?” he asked, unbuttoning his shirt.

The Major’s mouth went dry. All those half naked men in the night club had been bad enough, but to see – be offered – that. The Major stepped back. Could he do this? It was completely against his beliefs, but he had to fulfil his mission.

Dorian slipped his shirt off, his movements deliberate and graceful – the Major felt there ought to be music, but all he could hear was the beating of his heart and it was far too fast, the heartbeat of a man frightened for his life. He couldn’t decide whether to run or fight. He couldn’t move, he clutched desperately at the rough material of the curtains behind him.

He saw that Dorian’s skin was pale gold in the candlelight, the smooth skin on the body of a siren leading him into temptation. He wanted to touch but the thought repelled him, the first step into degeneracy. Suddenly the Major felt suffocated by the heat from the candles and he turned and flung opened the window, for a moment he considered escaping by jumping down onto the wet street below. But he looked back, and was lost.

Dorian had undone his fly and opened his trousers, he stood grinning at the Major. It was the most beautiful thing Klaus had ever seen.

Klaus couldn’t help it, he moved forward, nearer the fire and Dorian. He reached out, seeing his hand tremble, and touched Dorian’s chest. He pulled Dorian towards him and kissed the lovely mouth. When he let go he saw that his hands had left marks on Dorian’s soft skin. He was obscurely pleased at branding Dorian.

Dorian finished unfastening his trousers, Klaus noticed that he wore no underwear, what he would have expected from such a degenerate…he reached forward, it wasn’t far, and peeled Dorian’s trousers over his hips, then one more move pulled Dorian into an embrace.

Klaus felt Dorian’s hands move up to hold him in return, caressing his waist and neck. It was thrilling, more so than Klaus had expected and once again he felt his accelerated heartbeat and quickened respiration. He grasped Dorian’s buttocks, grinding their bodies together.

“The bed,” gasped Dorian.

“Too far,” replied Klaus in a break between kisses. He pushed Dorian to the sofa, and manoeuvred him across it.

Breathlessly he continued to kiss Dorian, unable to experience enough of the teasing, tempting mouth. He could see and feel that Dorian was aroused, hard. He felt an answering lust inside himself, could feel that he was also aroused. Klaus felt Dorian’s hands reach for the fastenings in his shirt, felt those same beautiful hands on this belt and fly.

“Oh!” Dorian murmured, “lovely.”

Klaus wasn’t sure what he meant, but allowed him access to remove his shirt, undershirt and then his trousers. Socks and shoes came off in one smooth movement with the trousers and Klaus caught Dorian’s amused look at his surprise. Klaus kissed the lovely mouth again, because it was there.

He was naked. On a sofa. With a man. He was more aroused, hot and needy, than he had ever been. He though he had felt lust before – in the night club – but it had not been like this. Nothing in his experience had prepared him for this. How could it?

He gasped, Dorian’s hand was on his penis, rubbing it, increasing his need. “What would you like?” whispered Dorian, hotly. Klaus’ only reply was an inarticulate moan. In truth he wasn’t sure what he wanted, he had no experience of this kind of sex, little enough of any kind of sex. “Do you want to fuck me?” asked Dorian, his whisper fired Klaus’ blood.

“Ja! Oh, Gott! Ja!”

Dorian manoeuvred Klaus onto the floor. Klaus didn’t see where Dorian got the condom from, he didn’t care, he barely remembered why one was needed.

Klaus watched Dorian roll it onto his erection, feeling the hot fingers on his penis, the act part of the play between them. He kissed Dorian again, afraid he would never get enough of it, the taste and feel of Dorian was becoming addictive. He ran his hand down Dorian’s belly, aware that Dorian was as hard as he. He wasn’t sure what he was doing, but Dorian’s groan of pleasure when Klaus finally grasped his penis – firmly as he himself liked to be touched – was flattering.

“Not yet…” Dorian’s voice was hoarse as his own, also pleasing.

”When?”

Dorian fumbled for a moment, producing a tube, unfamiliar to Klaus. “You put that on me… Oh! Yes! There…” The contents were cold but warmed rapidly. It felt odd, not a liquid, but not a cream. Almost panting, he put it onto Dorian’s arse, then into it – he grew breathless again – getting him ready.

Dorian had rolled onto his face, Klaus grasped his shoulder and pushed his penis into him. Dorian moaned again, “Yes…do it, Klaus please…”

Klaus had no reply for him, none that needed words anyhow. He thrust into Dorian, he felt as though Dorian was the world, all the world was in this body, and it was his. Triumph was his, finally, over Dorian, over everyone and everything that stood in his way.

Orgasm, when it came, was like turning himself inside out. It was completely different to the times he’d lain in bed, hand on himself in private misery. The difference must be Dorian, he thought, when he was able to think.

“Oh! That was good! That was wonderful!” Of course Dorian found his voice first.

Klaus was dumbfounded, but too tired to protest when Dorian led him to the bedroom, that he knew where it was came as no surprise. Klaus’ last vision before Dorian blew out the final candle was the mess they’d made of his undershirt.

Waking was bad.

The Major’s first thought was: “Oh Gott! Was hab’ ich getan?” He didn’t have to struggle to remember, the truth hit him like a body blow. The Major leapt from the bed, pulling the sheet up with him to cover his shame.

Dorian blinked up at him, sleepily. He looked indecently lovely for a man who had been well fucked – the Major went hot all over – and then woken without warning at 06:30. The bedside clock confirmed the time.

“You’ll have to go,” said the Major, repressively.

Dorian sat up, and fluttered his eyelashes suggestively. “Oh?” he said. “I’d hoped for a repeat…”

The Major said, “You disgust me. I disgust me.” He wrapped the sheet tighter about himself.

Dorian lay back down. “Oh hell!” he said. “I hoped we’d cured you of that.”

“Of what?” asked the Major, nastily. “Morality? Of knowing right from wrong?”

“It was good,” replied Dorian. He sounded annoyed, unusual for him. “What’s wrong with doing something you like?”

The Major had no immediate reply, “It was wrong, it was disgusting,” he said. “It won’t happen again. Now, leave. I have to go to work.” He grabbed some clothes, intending to head for the bathroom and safety.

“You stupid man!” It appeared that even Dorian had his limits. “That was work!”

Only then did the Major remember the mission. But how could anyone know about this? Surely he’d gone too far in pursuit of his mission, perhaps this was too convincing even for him? He could imagine how the Chief would laugh if he ever found out – and the Major prayed that the old bastard never would. It would be insupportable. He’d have to resign.

“And Major?”

The Major looked at Dorian, struck again with how beautiful he was. “Yes?” asked the Major, trying to sound non-commital.

“If you want me again, it’s you who will have to come to me. You, Major.”

On the way to the bathroom the Major saw his undershirt, he picked it up and turned it over in his hands. He’d never be able to wear it again and he put it in the rubbish bin.

As he showered he thought: ‘Work, I’ll go to work and that’ll stop me from remembering what happened last night.’ But he wasn’t hopeful, his cover job was dull and his duty lay in his mission. ‘Which I was carrying out,’ he pleaded with himself. ‘I was!’ He heard the front door shut. Dorian had gone. The Major breathed out.

While waiting for his replacement car to arrive, he paced around the flat, cleaning up traces of the night before. He was sure the hire company was going to ring and tell him that they didn’t hire cars to people like him. No phone call came and the car arrived, but he didn’t feel reassured.

He drove into the car park at Euston Tower, and headed for his office. He was nervous, he felt unclean despite his best efforts with the nailbrush in the shower. ‘I can still feel his hands touching me. Everybody is going to realise what I’ve done. How could they fail to? It must be obvious.’ His skin still tingled with the memory of the previous night and he felt that he had a sign saying ‘queer’ on his back. He walked through the building and heard laughter and knew it must be about him. How could he hope to hide the truth? How could they not see the difference? Already it had been a terrible morning and he couldn’t imagine it improving.

Vera greeted him cheerfully and handed him a sheet of blue paper.

“What’s this?” he asked. He was sure it was a letter demanding he leave, perverts not welcome here.

“Requisition for a car-parking space. If you’d said you wanted one, I would have given it to you before.”

The Major filled it in, mechanically. He was running on automatic.

“Until one comes free, and it’s dead men’s shoes round here, Major,” Vera went on, “you have to call building security every day to see if there’s a space before you bring your car. You were lucky today.”

“Why is nothing ever simple?” muttered the Major, although secretly relieved.

Vera laughed, “Only the good God knows that, Major!” She took the completed paper, and went on, “The waiting list’s a minimum of a year, possibly much longer depending on how many people leave.”

The Major scowled as he went into his office. ‘A year? A whole year for a fucking parking space? What sort of a city is this? The sort where disgusting, terrible things happen that’s what sort.’ He lit a cigarette and Vera followed him into the room, and pushed the ashtray towards him. “You won’t be able to do that in here from Monday,” she said.

“Oh?”

“No. It’s been decided by the Building Committee that smoking is to be banned in the whole building outside the designated smoking room. It’s unhealthy to breathe other people’s smoke.”

‘Can life get any worse?’ thought the Major. Cigarettes, to a large extent, were keeping him going. He wasn’t sure how he was going to manage without them.

Vera frowned at him for a few moments more, while he wondered if she would say anything – surely she could see his shame? – but all she said was, “GCHQ has rung again. They need you to pick up some more documents.”

The Major was almost relieved. It was, at least, something with which to occupy his mind. He set off eagerly enough. The weather was sunny and bright, the drive was pleasant and enabled him to get used to the new car. And, amazingly, security let him in to Cheltenham, although he knew he must look different to the picture on his pass, after all it had been taken before…before certain events.

It would have been a perfect day to visit the town, but that only occurred to him when he was on the motorway back, by which time he couldn’t be bothered to turn round. In any case, sightseeing was not something he enjoyed, but it would have filled up a few hours, been a distraction from those things he was trying not to think about. It might have stopped him feeling those ghostly hands caress his body. ‘But walking past all those people in the streets someone would be bound to notice, notice what I’ve done, what I’ve become.’

Safely back alone in his office where nobody could see him, he went through the batch of paperwork. It was as tedious as the last consignment had been… with one exception. That was good for it helped keep his mind off the night before. There was a reference overheard on a short wave radio out of Washington which would have made sense to no-one but an experienced field officer. He was sure that the reference to “svesda” which the Major knew was a code-within-a-code meaning a hidden agent in a Western country. The next reference was code for Britain followed by the code for a place name, and another for Osnabruck in Germany. The rest of the code was incomprehensible to him, apart – maybe – from a reference to Iran. Russia was free now, what was going on here?

The Major wrote a report on the hidden message, wishing he could follow it up himself, knowing that was impossible while he was stuck in London in disgrace. More than ever he regretted this stupid mission. This message led to the sort of thing he was good at, it didn’t lead to meetings with degenerate blond thieves in terrible places and doing unspeakable things. It didn’t lead to incidents that kept his skin tingling for hours afterwards. The phone rang interrupting the Major’s reverie and he picked it up.

“Major Eberbach.”

“My dear Major, have you received a certain package?”

The Major instantly became alert, momentarily forgetting his other concerns. This must be the blackmailers. “I’ve received nothing.”

“Then perhaps you should wait a moment. Is that your secretary knocking?”

Indeed it was. “Major, this has just come for you,” Vera dropped the package on the desk and went out.

As she closed the door the Major opened the envelope. It contained several photographs. They were of the moment he had kissed Eroica in the alleyway, and for a moment he was lost in the memory of it, he could almost feel the lips upon his own. The voice over the phone brought him back to the present.

“I think you want to meet with us. Be at the Convocation Club at midnight. Sit under the chandelier. Come alone.” The phone went dead. The Major replaced the receiver and put the photograph flat on the desk. He sat looking at it, his hand caressing the image. What was it that he was feeling? Did he feel sick? He certainly felt strange. No wonder having to look at a picture of that disgusting pervert. ‘But who is the pervert?’ To be sent a picture of his moment of disgrace…but he’d had to do that to make the bait attractive. That was why, it had been his duty. It had worked, too, the blackmailers had got in touch, ‘And all the things that had happened afterwards? Were they part of my duty too, only done to make the scenario convincing?’ But if that was the case why had he enjoyed it so much?

Finally, the Major realised the full extent of the problem. It was part of his job to do such things, if necessary, but it wasn’t supposed to feel so good, be so right. ‘Stop thinking that! I don’t want to think like that!’

Whatever else it was, it was progress. The blackmailers had fallen for it. Now it was only a matter of time before they were caught and he could return to Germany and he never ever again need have contact with that creature. ‘Never do those terrible, wonderful things again. Never feel those hands again’ He could forget Eroica again as he had done before. Of course he could, he could forget anything if necessary. He picked up the phone, slightly comforted.

The Convocation Club turned out to be a popular rendezvous; it was furnished in an ornate style, the kind of obvious luxury the Major despised. He sat in his assigned seat and lit a cigarette. The blackmailers had thoughtfully chosen the smoking side of the club. Obviously they’d been paying attention. Although he’d come, he mustn’t seem too eager. ‘Be defensive,’ he thought. Fortunately, that was one of his strengths.

Two cigarettes later, a man walked up to him. He was much shorter than the Major, though his curly brown hair was of a similar length. The Major eyed him up and down, decided that he posed no physical threat and wondered where he had seen him before.

“Hello Major. You can call me ‘Hans’. I’m glad you could make it.” Hans sounded like an insurance salesman. His German was good, but his accent was American. “I believe you have an interest in some photographs and tapes in my collection.” He smiled in an oily manner, even more like an insurance salesman.

The Major thought: ‘Tapes? What on earth could they have on tape?’

The Major gave him a dirty look. It wasn’t entirely provoked by what Hans had said, it was just one of his basic dirty looks, standard procedure for most social occasions. “I can’t see how your collection could be of much interest to me. Why should I care what you’ve been filming in your spare time?”

“Oh, but do look first before you decide. The two of you make such a lovely couple.” Hans spread some more photographs on the table. More of them in the alley and some of them in that hellish night club.

“But these aren’t my favourites, I have some which are a little more…well what shall we call them? Perhaps risqué.” Hans then pulled out some screen shots, they were obviously prints taken from a video. They showed two naked bodies writhing together in front of a fire, one was dark, one fair. It took all the Major’s self control not to choke there and then. To have done what he’d done was terrible enough, but to find out they had been watched! Videoed! It was worse than he could have imagined and he forced down panic. He had never noticed that the curtains hadn’t been drawn. The blackmailers must have set up a surveillance operation above the dentists opposite his flat. To know that his shame, his fall, had been recorded! It made him want to vomit. ‘Think of the mission. Only the mission.’ It was all he had left to keep him going.

Inhaling heavily on his cigarette he hoped he appeared collected. He said, “I’m still not interested. Such things are easily forged, these are blurred and could be anyone. Who would take your word over mine?” The Major could easily identify the figures. But a stranger would find it hard.

“Ah, who indeed?” ‘Hans responded, smiling, “The word of ‘Iron Klaus’ does carry some weight, but there’s precedent on my side. The gossip about you and your lovely companion has long been a favourite topic of conversation in all the smart intelligence circles.”

The Major managed to contain himself to look merely very angry. ‘A favourite topic of conversation? The shame of it! It’s disgusting! That pervert hunted me everywhere. And finally he caught me.’ The tail end of the thought did nothing to calm the Major’s turbulent spirit.

“If it’s such a common knowledge I don’t see why I should care about you and your sordid pictures.”

“For a man in your position it’s considered amusing that you have such an admirer. And impressive that you have been able to resist his not inconsiderable charms. And your denials, they are very convincing and not easily forgotten. But if…if it should be found to be true after all, then… Well then, maybe then your word will be considered as unreliable as your continued loyalty to NATO. I mean consorting with a thief, even if unconvicted. It’s bound to go down badly if they find out.” Hans smiled ingratiatingly.

“I’ve had enough of this, you fucking piece of shit!” The Major had finally reached his limit and he reached over and grabbed the man roughly by his collar and lifted him up, “No one questions my loyalty to NATO! No one!” he shouted into the face inches away from his own. In his fury he wanted to assault the disgusting little man, but decided against it and threw Hans back into his chair, where he toppled sideways onto the floor. The Major grabbed his coat, stood up and started to leave. On the floor Hans looked startled but he spoke with only a slight waver in his voice.

“We’ll give you time to think about it. Don’t worry, you’ll be hearing from us.”

The Major didn’t reply, he stalked out.

“My, that was a rush!” said Hans to himself, “And I think our quick-tempered Major will pay for it later.” Dusting himself off he stood up, put his coat back on and left. Outside, though, he failed to notice that he was being followed.


	6. Chapter 6

Major Eberbach stormed back to his flat. He was furiously angry, this could mean the end of everything. He could get thrown out of NATO, and what else was there for him? What else did he have in his life? He threw a dish across the room and followed it with the kitchen chair, then the table. Then, suddenly, he calmed. What on earth was he thinking? He was supposed to be being blackmailed. It was his mission to be blackmailed. ‘But I have slept with that pervert’. It had all been part of the mission, he told himself, it was his job to make it as convincing as he could.

He remembered one of the photographs from the nightclub. This one had been clear, but not necessarily damning; it had shown him and Eroica looking at each other. They had been having an argument, but in the photo it didn’t look like that. The photograph showed two people staring intensely into each other’s eyes. But he wasn’t having an affair with that creature. It just looked as if he was.

The Major sat down on the remaining chair. He was exhausted, he prayed he would sleep properly tonight, he needed to ease the turmoil in his soul. In the morning, when he was more composed, he would report to his Chief. When the blackmailers got in contact again he would have to be more co-operative.

He went to work next day impatient for the blackmailers to call. Despite his hopes he’d lain awake all night, unable to sleep while the time ticked by. The night had seemed eternal, hardly passing at all as he’d worried about this mission. Nothing else had ever affected him this badly. In some ways he’d hoped the night would last forever, at least then he wouldn’t have had to face the coming day.

He had nothing to do and he spent his time watching the phone, wishing for it to ring, wanting it with the single minded intensity of a teenage girl waiting for her new boyfriend to call. His heart leapt when it did ring but it turned out to be only a call from an idiot detective who wanted him to identify the van driver from the mortar incident. The Major snarled down the phone that he couldn’t possibly leave his office today and if they wanted him to identify anyone they’d have to bring the pictures to him.

He allowed himself ten minutes every hour in the designated smoking room, though he knew the blackmailers would make contact while the was there. It was almost inevitable that they would, but he still had to have a cigarette.

On his third visit he met Colonel Cairns, who nodded to him. Cairns offered him a cigarette, his cigarettes were a brand called Senior Service, and had no filter. The Major noted this, absently thinking that it was unusual for anyone these days to smoke such strong cigarettes. ‘Cairns lungs must be blacker than mine…but not as black as my soul.’ The Major turned the offer down, and lit one of his own more usual brand. They smoked in silence for a while then Cairns asked: “Are you settling in, Major?”

The Major detested small talk, but he supposed he had better be polite. “Yes, thank you.”

“It must be very handy, living so close to the office.”

“Yes,” agreed the Major. “It is.” This was the first indication that Cairns had ever given that he’d any idea where the Major lived. Odd that he’d taken the trouble to find out.

“I’m sorry we can’t find you a car parking space.”

This was still a sore point. “It can’t be helped,” said the Major, unwillingly. Privately he thought it could be helped, but there was no point annoying a superior. Not when he was at a disadvantage, anyway. He could save being annoyed with this particular superior for a better time.

Cairns looked as if he was desperately searching for something to say. He finally came up with, “Are you enjoying London, Major?”

“No,” ground out the Major. And conversation languished.

Detective Sergeant Miles looked up at the NATO building. This case just seemed to get worse. A mortar attack in broad daylight in London was almost unheard of. A peer of the realm killed – not that that bothered Miles, it was one less parasite to worry about – but even a Lord didn’t deserve to die in a fireball. What was currently irritating him though, was that the main witness was a NATO agent who seemed determined to make Miles’ job as difficult as possible. Surpressing his annoyance at having to come here at all, he entered the building and showed his credentials to the guard at the security post. He received directions to Major Eberbach’s office and headed for the lift, adjusting the heavy bag on his shoulder. The ache caused by the shoulder strap made him curse NATO again, even laptops weren’t light, whatever the manufacturers might claim. Anyone else could have come to the station to look through mug shots, but not NATO’s finest. Oh no, the precious Major had to have a busy detective come here with a computer full of mug shots before he would deign to identify either man in the van. If the press hadn’t been kicking up such a stink about the case, Miles would have been tempted to wait until the high and mighty Major could find a gap in his busy schedule to come to the station. At least that would have saved wear and tear on Miles’ shoulders.

He found his way to the office and smiled at the secretary. She smiled back, kindly, and asked him to wait. He attempted to amuse himself for the twenty minutes he was kept waiting by looking at the personnel photographs on the wall, and wondered why knowing that the free world was being guarded by these men made him feel no safer. There was no photograph of anyone called Eberbach, but maybe he was new.

Finally he was shown into the presence. Major Eberbach turned from the window as Detective Miles was introduced. ‘My, he doesn’t look pleased to see me, does he? Perhaps I’ve interrupted some important gazing out of the window he just couldn’t do anywhere else.’ Miles forced down his irritation. He needed this man’s co-operation, regardless how irksome that was to obtain.

“Major Eberbach, I’m Detective Sergeant Miles. I’m one of the officers investigating the mortar attack on Lord McNaughton’s car.”

The Major didn’t offer to shake hands but looked at Miles as if he was intruding and kept on glancing towards the phone. Undaunted, as only an unarmed English policeman faced with an unwelcome task can be, Miles continued: “As I mentioned in our phone conversation this morning I need you to look at some pictures to see if you can identify the men in the van.”

The Major sighed but he did sit down at his desk as Miles set up the computer.

The Major couldn’t believe he was being subjected to this. Although looking at photographs was a distraction from waiting for the blackmailers to call, it interfered with his cigarette breaks and forced him to think of certain other photographs. How was it that looking at mug shots made him think of the glossy 8 by 10s that were hidden in an envelope in his flat? He tried desperately to concentrate on the task in hand but all he could think of were those photos, two people seemingly delighting in each other’s bodies. And they say the camera never lies! When he thought about what happened all he could feel was disgust and all he wanted was for this to be over, success or failure, so he could get as far away from Eroica as possible. But right now he would settle for Detective Sergeant Miles just leaving him alone. Again and again he was tempted to identify a random picture just to get rid of him. The Detective was making a hellish afternoon worse, but the Major’s desire to see justice done was strong and it was against his nature to obstruct an investigation for purely personal reasons.

Eventually, after what seemed like several days, a picture appeared that made some impression on the glazed Major. It wasn’t the driver, though.

“That one, he fired the mortar,” the Major was relieved, now Miles would go.

“How can you be sure? In your statement you say it happened very quickly.”

The Major gave Miles his best disbelieving stare. “I am a military man, trained to react instantly. There was plenty of time for me to see and memorise this man.” Miles was unconvinced but decided to back down.

“Now if you could continue looking, hopefully you can find the driver too.”

This was the final straw for the Major. “I’m sorry, you have taken up a great deal of my time. I have identified one man that should be enough for now, presumably this man has known associates, why don’t you investigate them? If you want me to continue looking you must either come back another day or leave the computer with me and I will look when I have time.” The Major’s tone brooked no argument. Miles considered leaving the computer, but as he had signed it out he didn’t trust NATO not to lose it somewhere – or insist it was theirs.

“Well, if that is all I’ll leave and continue my investigations to catch a murderer.” Miles spoke in his coolest, most condescending tone, and left without saying goodbye. ‘If he’s such hot stuff’, the detective thought as he stomped out, ‘how come he’s stuck in a desk job?’

The Major was incredibly relieved. Now he had only to wait for the blackmailers to call, but first, and most importantly, he could have a cigarette. He left for the smoking room.

It was much later when the call finally came. The Major knew the blackmailers had waited, just one more move in this game of nerves. They wanted him to go back to the Convocation Club. He was disgusted, but he went.

The club was as ostentatious as the Major remembered, and he surveyed it, his lip curled disapprovingly. He made his way to the same table as before, the waiter ahead of him removed the ‘reserved’ marker, and moved a chair back for him to sit down. The Major lit a cigarette, prepared to wait.

He didn’t have to wait long, Hans left the shadows and walked over towards him, as ingratiating and insurance salesmanlike as ever. He sat down without being asked, and lit a cigarette of his own.

The Major decided to take the initiative. “Well?” he demanded, “How much?” Hans grinned at him, curly hair flopping wildly. ‘He should get that cut,’ thought the Major, uncharitably.

“It’s not your money we want, Major,” said Hans.

“Then what?”

“We want your expertise.”

“My…?” the Major was surprised, “What for?”

“We need access to a certain safe to retrieve an item of…no importance.”

“Oh.” The Major paused. “Then you’ve come to the wrong man, I’m not a safebreaker.”

“Not you yourself perhaps, but you’re sleeping with one. I am sure you can persuade your lovely companion to help you. He seems very devoted.” Hans smile was oily in the extreme.

The Major thought about it, while he took a sip of his whisky and fumed internally.

“I’d rather he wasn’t involved.”

“Such concern for a loved one, but I’m afraid we won’t accept anyone else. So, do you think it is within your power to persuade him to help?” asked Hans with a suggestive leer.

“I think so,” the Major did his best not to sound too sure. He ignored the leer with an effort. “I will need a couple of days to persuade Eroica, and to plan the…action.”

“A couple of days you have. Be at Georgioni’s at 8 p.m. on Thursday. If I do not meet you, return on Friday at the same time.”

That would give the Major barely forty-eight hours. It would be tight, but they could do it. “Very well. I will need plans of your…target.”

“They will be supplied.”

“Can they be with me tomorrow morning?”

Hans considered for a moment. “That should be no problem.”

The Major stood. “Thursday, then.”

“Thursday, Major,” Hans raised a glass.

The Major stalked out of the club without a backwards glance.

Back at the Tavistock Place flat, the Major switched on the lights and closed the curtains. He hated to think that the blackmailers could see him; after that film, those pictures, he was more paranoid than ever. He picked up the phone and called the Chief in Bonn.

Arrangements made, his hand hovered over the phone. Finally, knowing that Eroica would be in bed and would have to be woken, he dialled Eroica’s number. The thought was obscurely pleasurable, he was losing sleep, why shouldn’t the degenerate Earl?

Eroica came to the phone at last. “What do you want, Major?” he sounded tired, and the Major felt his stomach jolt at the familiar voice.

“Your help,” said the Major, after a pause. “In the mission you’re being paid for.”

“Really?” there was some spark of enthusiasm in Eroica’s voice, “What do you want me to do?”

“Break into a house?”

Eroica said, “Burglary wasn’t in our original agreement. I’m afraid it will be extra.”

The Major glowered at the phone. “How much?”

“Oh…I’d rather it was a surprise, but believe me you can easily afford it.”

“Very well,” The Major snarled, irritated that he had no option, “I will bring the plans of the target to Castle Gloria tomorrow,” and quickly broke the connection. ‘Why can’t anything about this job go as expected? I’ve been humiliated, photographed and now forced to become a common thief. I wish this mission was over so I could return to Germany and leave this mess behind.’

While the Major cursed the misery of his mission Agent Z was, in contrast, quite pleased with his own progress. He sat in a hired car listening to a bug, and it was proving to be a most enlightening experience. It was the first time, since he’d been summoned to the Major’s angry presence nearly a week ago, that he felt he knew what was going on. As he listened he thought back on the events that had brought him here. The mission briefing had been unconventional. Of all the Major’s agents only A, B and Z had been called to the small meeting room, where the waiting Major had looked more irritated than usual.

“You three are to travel instantly to London,” the Major had said without preamble. “When you get there arrange somewhere to stay, and wait until you are called on this phone.” The Major handed A a mobile phone, also a credit card, a booklet and a briefcase. “The PIN number for the credit card is in the booklet as is the code in which you will receive your instructions. Tell no one where you are going, especially the Chief. Make something up, call in sick, whatever. I will have my mobile phone, do not call it except in an extreme emergency.”

And with that the Major had left, the briefing apparently over. The three agents had looked at each other then rushed to pack. On the plane to London Z had examined the phone. He might be a junior but he had recognised it as part of a survival kit. All agents of a certain rank had access to such a kit. It contained all that an agent would need if he had to vanish without warning, an unregistered phone, and access to NATO funds using a credit card in a false name. This must be the Major’s own survival kit, none of them were important enough to have one, all of this the Major would have had access to without consulting any other member of NATO, but it was for emergencies only. The briefcase was the right size to contain the standard bugging apparatus. What was this mission and why should it be so secret?

For several days no call had come so the mystified agents had decided to go sightseeing, at NATO’s expense. “Think of it as compensation for being dragged out here with no notice.” B had justified to the others.

The Tower and several museums investigated, they had turned to some in depth research of some of the better local pubs when the mobile rang. A had answered quickly, nearly dropping the phone into his pint in his nervousness.

“Meet me at 131 Tyne and Wear Street. Bring your sister. I have a surprise for her birthday.” A had recognised the Major’s voice and had repeated the message so B could write it down. Z had felt a pang of guilt, while they’d been sightseeing the Major had been working on a mission. At last, however, they were about to justify their expense to NATO or at least to the Major, who mattered more. The decoded message had ordered A to observe the meeting with Hans and follow him afterwards. The night had ended with A standing outside a house in a very dull area of Chelsea. Now they were making up for their inactivity; the morning had found B watching Hans shop, A carefully breaking into his home to bug his phone, and Z finding the frequency to listen in on Hans’ mobile.

Z still didn’t understand what they were trying to achieve, but his training overrode his confusion. In NATO you had to accept that you wouldn’t always understand the reason for your orders, but that didn’t make it easier to bear. The day, however, brought some enlightenment in the form of an extremely cryptic message to Hans and Hans’ instruction to the Major. Later, Z had found himself at the Convocation Club for Hans’ second meeting with the Major.

The short phone message hadn’t included instructions on how to proceed further so Z decided to act on his own initiative and ‘accidentally’ bumped into Hans as he left and planted a bug. Z’s instincts had proved correct as Hans didn’t return home but went to Georgioni’s instead. B had taken over the tail to follow Hans inside while Z and A had sat in the car to listen in to the bug.

Z returned his attention to the bugged conversation. This information could be considered important enough to use the Major’s mobile number.


	7. Chapter 7

The morning found the plans on The Major’s desk waiting for him when he arrived after another sleepless night. How could they have got there so fast? There must be a mole in the building, in his office, but who?

The Major closed his office door and after a quick glance at them slipped the plans into his briefcase. All he had to do was think of a reason to leave.

Before he could even consider it there was a phone call. Detective Sergeant Miles, about the last person – short of his Chief – that the Major wanted to talk to. “Eberbach,” he ground out, sounding as unfriendly as he could.

“Ah, Major Eberbach…” Miles sounded wary.

“Yes?” said the Major.

“Sir…the man you identified…”

“Yes?”

“A short time ago three NATO agents were murdered in London…”

“I was aware of that,” the Major wished Miles would come to the point.

“So I understand,” said Miles, he sounded as if he was trying very hard not to get annoyed. “The man you identified is believed to have been seen leaving the scene where the other three NATO agents were found. We have reported this through Interpol to our NATO contact in Bonn. He asked me to inform you, which I have now done.”

“Your witness, the one who saw the suspect leaving the murder scene…can I question him?” At last, progress on the mission that didn’t involve blond thieves or clandestine meetings.

“I’m afraid not…”

“Are you protecting him?”

“Not at all, it’s just that…well, he’s dead.”

“Dead?” The Major was outraged.

Miles sounded apologetic. “I’m afraid so, Major. The gentleman was questioned over the…incident…and he made a statement. Three days later he was arrested for being drunk and disorderly – and smoking pot – on Holborn underground station. He was charged and sentenced to seven days in Wormwood Scrubs…”

“Where?” asked the Major, puzzled.

“Prison, sir. While in custody he hanged himself in his cell. Odd, that. He hadn’t been thought to be at risk of suicide.” There was a pause. “Sir?” asked Miles.

“Yes?” said the Major, his turn to be wary.

“When will it be convenient for you to try to identify the driver of the van?”

“Never,” said the Major as he cut the connection.

The Major stared at the phone. The sudden death of a witness was all he needed. He turned his mind back to his own most immediate problem. How to leave?

Someone might check if he claimed to be going to the range once more, and though it seemed weak, almost pathetic for a man like him to plead a headache, in the end that’s what he did. He felt guilty about lying to the very concerned Vera, but the sneering Cruikshank didn’t bother him at all. Could either of them be the mole?

He made very good time to Gloria, the strangely named village near Oxford that was Eroica’s home and the nearest habitation to his castle, which was also called Gloria. The Major considered it a stupid name for a castle or a village, but he’d never said so to Eroica.

Eroica looked thrilled to see the Major. He always did, that was one of the most comforting things about him. No-one else in the Major’s life had that look of pleasure whenever he walked into a room, not even his mother and certainly not his father. What had he done to deserve this affection? Nothing that he could recall.

The Major slapped the papers on the table. “Here are the plans.”

“Yes, Major, it’s good to see you too.” Eroica reached out and unfolded them. “Where’s our target?” he asked.

“I’m not sure,” said the Major. “They haven’t said.”

“Very mysterious,” said Eroica. “Bonham?”

“My Lord?” Bonham was coming in with a tray of coffee. He put this down on the table which already had the plans on it.

“What do you make of these?”

“This is meant to be a secret!” barked the Major, as Bonham took the plans.

Eroica sighed, “You know as well as I do, Major, that I need my support team. That’s why NATO is paying them.”

The Major didn’t look pleased, he said, “I’m not paying James!”

“James is on holiday,” said Bonham, happily. “He’s gone to Las Vegas to play the tables. Doing well, too, or so he said in his postcard. He’s worked out a system he says will make him rich.”

“Cheating, you mean?” said Eroica.

“Very probably, my Lord,” Bonham agreed.

Bonham was very professional, the Major had to admit that. He’d never seen this most trusted of Eroica’s men actually working, and despite himself he was impressed. Bonham’s knowledge of security systems was phenomenal, and Eroica’s not very far behind.

The Major left them to work, he wanted a plan quickly and knew that his interference would only slow the process down. Unfortunately this meant all his time was now spent watching Eroica at work. Too busy to maintain his normal artifice Eroica was at his most desirable to the Major. Efficient, informed, direct. With nothing else to do the Major’s mind wandered to that night in the London flat. The hands that now flattened the plan had caressed his body, lips that were now bitten in concentration had claimed his own. Alarmed by the tenor of his own thoughts the Major tried desperately to concentrate on the document in front of him, but the words and lines merged into each other and he could make no sense of it. He hadn’t slept for two days now, not since, well, not since that night, and that and the stress of this horrible mission was starting to show.

“Major” Eroica’s words startled the Major out of his vague thoughts. Quickly looking at his watch the Major realised he’d lost several minutes in daydreams. Eroica and Bonham were looking at him. Eroica looked slightly concerned.

“What?” The Major said. When in doubt attack, it usually worked.

“As I was just saying, I think we’ve come up with a workable plan. Do you want to check it.”

“No you’ve been paid to do a job and I expect you to do it without assistance” the Major said tersely.

Eroica was taken aback. The Major rarely trusted another’s plan and always wanted to make changes, but for once he decided not to comment.

“If that’s the case then I suggest we continue this in the morning when we’re more likely to see any problems. Come with me, Major. I’ll show you to a guest room.”

Reluctantly, the Major followed Eroica from the room. He hated the idea of staying here, but he could hardly drive back to London and return in the morning. Not while he was this tired. It wasn’t until it finally penetrated his mind that he had walked up and down several flights of stairs that Eroica was taking a very roundabout route to the guest quarters.

The Major stopped suddenly angry. “What are you doing? Just because I’m forced into your company doesn’t mean you can make assumptions.”

Eroica smiled, used to this side of the Major. “Relax darling, I meant what I said, you are perfectly safe until you decide differently. Though I have to confess being unable to resist giving you a tour of the castle.”

“Eroica….” The Major started menacingly

“Oh very well, I’ll take you to your room.”

With that Eroica opened the door in front of him and walked through into a dim room, the Major following. Once inside Eroica had instantly headed for another door but the Major had stopped in the middle of the room. Something had penetrated the fog pervading his mind and he searched the room to find out what it was. Finally he saw it. A large glass case had been set into the opposite wall, around it on tall candlesticks and ledges were candles. All alight they provided the only illumination, their glow reflecting off the glass case and making patterns on the walls. Fresh flowers were strewn on the floor before the case and arranged in stands on either side. The case itself contained a smaller but heavily jewelled glass case, with a velvet bottom which was angled to display a crucifix that lay inside. The whole arrangement looked like a much-cared-for shrine and it’s familiarity drew the Major. Closer now he could see the crucifix clearly. The Christ was exquisitely carved out of bone or ivory. The Major was no lover of art, disliking its decadence, but here the artist had captured the moment. The pure agony of iron plunged through flesh, the pain of hanging for hours in a desert heat, the grace that transcended all suffering and the love that caused the sacrifice. The plain wood of the cross was dark with a strong grain running through it. No jewels marred it’s surface. The message it presented needed no gilding, no ornamentation. The Major stood transfixed before the display. Here he felt his guilt more strongly. By his unnatural act he had betrayed all this, sullied it somehow. Disgusted, he turned sharply only to find Eroica at his side.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Eroica said wistfully.

“Has no one told you never to leave lit candles unattended?”

Eroica ignored the comment and leant forward to open both cases and remove the crucifix from its resting place. He then presented it to the Major who took it reluctantly. It felt natural in his hands, as if it had been made to rest there. That Eroica could paw at it any time he fancied angered the Major.

“To you this must be some soulless piece of art, you admire the workmanship but have no understanding of what it represents. Then you set up this farce to pretend you understand, that your appreciation has any depth.” Venom poured from the Major’s injured and confused soul.

Venom to which Eroica responded with his brightest smile. “And you said you were an atheist.”

The Major said nothing merely held the crucifix tighter.

“But I do understand. That is the greatest symbol of love I’ve ever known.”

Despite himself the Major was interested, but he said nothing.

“There is a legend about it. I’d happily tell you it if you’d like.” Eroica took the Major’s silence as aquiesence. “In Tudor times in England faith was a very important issue. Henry VIII created the Anglican church, Mary brought back Catholicism and then Elizabeth restored Protestantism. People were suspected of being traitors merely on the grounds of faith as many Catholics looked to Mary Queen of Scots to remove Elizabeth and her church. Faith could either help or hinder your progress up the social ladder.”

“I am fully aware of the history and political implications of Catholicism thank you.” the Major said icily.

Undaunted, Eroica continued.

“Well then I’ll cut to the story. About that time there was a very ambitious local family, the Fitzgeralds. They had wholeheartedly embraced the new faith and due to some excellent investments and marriages had become wealthy and influential. But, as in all up and coming families, there was a black sheep. This particular one was called William and he was a pirate. One with a reputation for ruthlessness and a liking for unnecessary cruelty.”

“I assume that you’re going to reach a point in the near future.”

“Well, to miss out some rather interesting but gory details, let it suffice that after years away William visited his family, possibly for a reconciliation but most likely to show off his wealth. He was well received, after all money is always welcome. Plans were made to find him a suitable bride. Bring him and his fortune back into the fold so to speak.”

“Is this going to go on much longer. I have important work tomorrow and listening to you…witter…does nothing to achieve my mission.”

“Patience Major,” Eroica said refusing to be perturbed. “The introduction is over and it is time for fate to intervene in the form of William’s horse throwing him into a ditch.

“He was saved from death by the daughter of a neighbouring family. Her name was Mary. He couldn’t be moved far so he was nursed back to health in a nearby tower. He fell in love with her and, naturally she with him, but the course of this true love was not destined to run smooth, for she loved him against her will. During his illness he had been delirious and had confessed many a bloody deed and she had been horrified, although she did continue to nurse him.

“However, in those times the lack of a woman’s consent was not the greatest impediment to a marriage and he asked his family to arrange the engagement. It was then that he discovered the stumbling block. She was a Catholic. Not only would her family not give their consent, but his own would do all in their power to avoid Catholic relations; relations that could seriously harm their social standing.

“William, however, was not the type of man to consider such opposition as a problem. He decided that he would kidnap the girl. Install her somewhere and maybe even still marry her. So he sent Mary a letter begging her to meet him at the tower and she went, unable to resist seeing her love once more.

“They met by moonlight, as all romantic couples should. She looked beautiful by the half light and he was dashing. Hands were held, eyes were gazed into and he tried to persuade her to go with him willingly. As soon as she realised his intention she tried to dissuade him. This was the action of the man she hated, the ruthless pirate, not the gentle man she had come to know in the tower. William expected to be unmoved but strangely her entreaties affected him. Her happiness suddenly became as important as his own and he couldn’t take her against her will. But she wouldn’t go. It wasn’t that she didn’t love him, she said, but she couldn’t do it to her family. It was hard enough being Catholics, but the slur of a daughter who had run off with a former pirate would prevent any of her sisters marrying and further worsen the family fortunes.

“But, William could see she was weakening. Soon she would agree for she did love him, but, he realised, she would never forgive herself the damage caused to her family. William was devastated, it was only by losing her that he could be the man she loved; it was only by losing her that he could save her from a lifetime of guilt.

“William had never loved anyone enough to care about these kind of issues, Mary had never loved anyone enough to abandon her home and family to disaster. So William stopped trying to persuade Mary to go with him just before she agreed to it, but then found himself unable to leave, not merely because she wouldn’t let go of his arm. There they stood as dawn broke, trapped, unable to go, unable to stay. Finally William pulled Mary to his horse and one handedly removed a bundle from the saddlebag. Disengaging his other hand from her grasp he unwrapped it to reveal this crucifix.”

“‘Take this, it came from Antioch and was blessed by St. Peter,’ William said.

“Of course it can’t have been, as the crucifixion wasn’t depicted until centuries after the event,” Eroica interrupted himself lightly and earned himself an extra angry glance from the Major, who had begun to show some interest in the tale.

“Are you going to finish this interminable story or show off your knowledge of art history?”

“‘Take this, it came from Antioch and was blessed by St Peter himself,’ William said,” Eroica repeated. “‘It was on a ship heading west. Throughout the ages weddings have been blessed over it. It was given to the one you loved, as a promise that you would remain faithful until death. Misery would befall any who broke this sacred vow.’ William took Mary’s hand and held it over the cross.

“‘In God’s eyes I take you for my wife, do you take me for your husband?’

“‘Yes, ‘till the day I die.’

“‘Then, wherever we are, we are together.’

“And William jumped on his horse and rode away.”

Silence reined in the room.

The Major said, “Have you finished now?”

“Don’t you want to know what happens next?”

“I only want to get out this room and get some sleep.”

“William gave up his life on the seas and lived his life in seclusion. Mary entered a convent. The legend has it they were very happy.”

“And that’s the end? Are you going to show me to my room now or is there a story associated with the wallpaper?”

Eroica smiled, gently took the crucifix from the Major’s hands, replaced it in the case and led the Major to his room.

That night the Major lay in bed staring alternately at the door and the ceiling. Sleep once more evaded him. This time he knew the reason, he just couldn’t relax. His attention was completely focused on the door. The Major was sure that it was just a matter of time before Eroica would come through and seduce him again. The door was locked, but Eroica was a thief and locks rarely even slowed him down. There was a chair braced against the door, but the Major couldn’t trust his tattered virtue to that insufficiently robust piece of furniture. So he lay awake, listening for footsteps in the corridor and something terrible to happen to his body.


	8. Chapter 8

Hours passed, no footsteps approached, no door was forced and nobody was seduced. The Major had no sleep, either.

Thursday came too soon, the plan was barely complete, and 8pm found them in Georgioni’s. They barely had time to sit down before Hans arrived and strolled over to them. “This way,” he said and led them through a door marked ‘Private’ and into a grey, featureless corridor. Another door led to an opulent office. “Sit down,” said Hans.

Eroica looked at the Major, but they both sat.

“You have a plan?” asked Hans.

“Yes…” said Eroica. “I think so. Without knowing the exact target it’s a little difficult. We don’t know if the target has permanent guards outside, for instance.”

“Let us take care of that.” Hans leaned back into the leather chair behind the desk.

“It’s not trusting other people that’s kept me out of prison,” said Eroica, he sounded more annoyed than the Major had ever heard him.

“You mean to say it’s not your lover, then?” said Hans.

“Of course not!” Eroica sounded exasperated.

“Well, I wonder how many people would believe that?”

“I don’t care!” replied Eroica. “It’s true.”

“And what do you have to say for yourself, Major?” Hans turned to him, ironically.

“Nothing. You asked me to obtain Eroica’s help and I have,” replied the Major.

“Enough, then.” Hans produced a set of plans and unfolded them on the desk. “You will recognise these.”

“Yes,” said Eroica.

“Good. It’s tonight.”

“What? That’s ridiculous, I need to brief my backup team.”

“No, Eroica. You’ll have to do this alone, no backup…”

“No…” Eroica was stunned. “I can’t do it without assistance, I’m not a common thief.”

“You’ll have to.” Hans pressed a buzzer. Two men came in, “ Search them!” Hans said. All they found was Eroica’s breaking-in tools and the Major’s gun. The gun was taken away, despite the Major’s protests, and they were led out through another door which was disguised as a bookcase, not an unusual trick.

There was a dark alleyway behind Georgioni’s and a car waited there with blackened windows, it pulled out, with Eroica and the Major inside.

Three hours later, the car pulled into a driveway that went on for a long time – a big house then, but that had been clear from the plans – but they pulled up before reaching it. Hans gestured with his gun for Eroica and the Major to get out. Curious to see what would happen next – and really having little option – they complied, and stood looking around into soaking wet trees. There was little light; the orange glow of a town could be seen some miles away, but that seemed to have as little to do with them than as if they were on the moon.

Eroica tried to catch the Major’s eye, but failed. The Major seemed to be concentrating on something which had nothing to do with the night’s events, and even little enough to do with Eroica. Eroica wanted to change that, but even he could see that now was not the time.

He followed Hans. As he did so he realised another man had joined them, a second car must have followed them up the motorway and through the tiny country roads. Had Eroica not been a local man he would have been entirely lost, as it was he had a pretty good idea where they were and a very good idea where they were about to rob. He had been assuming that it was someone’s home – that idea had been entirely false.

He knew that a research establishment had a branch in an old house, Davenant Hall, not far from his own castle. Now he knew why those plans had been so familiar…he’d played here as a child, before the company had bought it. Suddenly he felt much more confident.

At the edge of a the trees they looked across a mown lawn to the house. It now had an extension of modern bricks, in the light it would probably have clashed with the old house, but its ugliness was mercifully hidden by the night. Eroica and the Major exchanged glances. There was no sign of a light on in the house, which was one mercy.

Eroica led the way across the lawns and down the few steps to the tall French windows. He looked around and took out his housebreaking tools. He felt uncomfortable with an audience, he didn’t usually have so many people around – the Major was watching him with interest, and Eroica hoped he was thinking of a way to get them out of this safely. Next to him was Hans, then the driver loomed threateningly. Eroica also realised that another man from the other car had followed them, this man’s face was swathed in a scarf as if he had a bad cold.

While the Major could not approve of how Eroica chose to come by his wealth, he could appreciate, intellectually and on a more physical level, the professionalism that Eroica showed on the job. When stealing, Eroica was all business.

He had the door open in an astonishingly short time, and after a warning glance at the others he led the way in. The Major followed him confidently. He knew, or hoped he knew, from their reading of the plans that they were safe from tripwires and lightbeams. He wondered why the owners of this place had not bothered with such obvious security measures – or maybe there was some more suspicious reason for their lack. He looked around, carefully. There might be surveillance devices, despite what the plans had said, and the Major didn’t trust these people.

Their objective was on the first floor, a safe in what had once been a bedroom but was now a rather plain office. Eroica found the right safe with little difficulty, a giant monstrosity that was far too easily cracked – the Major could have opened that himself – and a second, smaller, far more high-tech affair behind an 18th Century picture of foxhounds and men in Pink coats. Why these coats were said to be Pink when they were often red or black had always been a mystery to him.

A distracted few minutes which seemed like hours passed, and Eroica had the safe open. Somehow the Major had never doubted that he would. He was used to Eroica’s extraordinary ability with safes, locks and security arrangements of all kinds. He just wished all that knowledge was put to better use.

He watched as Eroica sat back. “There’s your safe, gentlemen.”

“Good,” said Hans. He reached inside the safe for the contents, having cleared it and dropped the contents – packages of documents – into a briefcase he pulled a gun out and trained it on the Major. The other man, still with his face wrapped in the scarf, surely over-warm for indoors, also pulled a gun, and this was trained on Eroica.

The Major lost no time, he attacked without warning, aiming a savaté kick at the man in the scarf. He was unlucky, the tactic worked on films, and sometimes even in training, but not in real life. Hans dropped the briefcase and made a grab for him, as did the guard. As they struggled the guard’s gun went off into the ceiling. The Major was strong, but he was slowing losing the fight.

The man in the scarf made a grab for the bag but Eroica jumped to intervene but was too late. Eroica was surprised by the speed of his opponent and was unable to sidestep the bag as it was swung upwards towards his temple. Eroica staggered, momentarily dazed. Just as the escape attempt seemed doomed, A and Z ran headlong in to the room and straight into the Major and the men he was struggling with, knocking them all to the floor. Recovering first the Major grabbed the guard and slammed his head down on the floor, knocking him out. A recovered enough to hold Hans while Z dived at the last man. But again the man in the scarf was too fast and he ran through the other door. “After him!” yelled the Major, relieving the guard of his weapon and running for the door himself.

Z did as they had been ordered, A quickly handcuffed Hans to a heavy table and followed – leaving Eroica alone. Eroica locked the safe. Afterwards he was unable to say why he had done so, his best guess being that some vestigial sense of the tidiness Nanny had worked so hard to instil in him had remained. As he finished he heard a noise in the next room. Cautiously he went through the door, only to be confronted by a gun held by the man with the scarf, though now the scarf was no longer over his face. Eroica didn’t know him, and wondered what purpose the scarf had served.

“This way, Eroica,” the man gestured with his gun.

“What for?” asked Eroica.

“There’s another safe,” said the man.

“It wasn’t marked on the plans,” remarked Eroica.

“No,” said the man, “it wasn’t. This way, and please don’t call for help. I can find other safecrackers.” Eroica was shepherded into some labs. The other man looked around and listened for pursuit. Satisfied they were alone he showed Eroica to a space in the floor. “Here.”

At once Eroica could see what he meant, there was a safe there. He pulled up the cover – it took all this strength – and set to work. With a gun on him he hardly dared do anything else. It was modern, Eroica couldn’t think of many other people who could crack it. A voice briefly distracted him from his work.

“Good evening, Colonel Cairns,” Eroica heard the Major’s voice.

The man turned, “Ah, Eberbach.”

Eroica risked looking up to see that the Major had his gun trained on Cairns, if that’s who he was “I’m taking you in, Cairns,” the Major said, behind closed teeth.

“I don’t think so.” said Cairns as he moved closer to Eroica, his gun inches away from Eroica’s head. “Do you think you can kill me before I blow you lovely friend’s head away?” The Major bared his teeth and raised his gun. “Yes.” he said menacingly.

Cairns paused to consider his options and Eroica took this as a cue and dived away from the gun barrel. The Major fired, hitting Cairns in the shoulder and sending him spinning, Cairns’ gun clattered to the floor.

“Z,” the Major shouted. Z appeared in the doorway. “Ensure the others are secure. Call to London to arrange medical facilities for your arrival. Call to Bonn and inform the Chief of what’s happened. Tell him to arrange an interrogation team in London.” Z left at a run no doubt deciding which task to carry out first.

The Major bound Cairns’ hands together then attended to the shoulder wound. “You’ll live,” he spat towards the injured man. “So tell me, what is so important in that safe that you had to come along and risk me recognising you?”

Cairns looked defiantly at the Major. “I’m saying nothing.”

“Mind you I don’t suppose you planned for me to leave alive, did you. You’re a disgrace to NATO. You’ll pay for this and all the other murders. A, take him away.”

A, who had just arrived with B, helped Cairns out of the door. The Major turned to Eroica.

“Are you unhurt?” He sounded very formal.

“Yes. Thank you.”

“Have you opened the safe?”

“Yes.”

“And what’s inside?” The Major was looking at the wall above the safe. His back was ramrod straight.

“Just these.” Eroica held a document packet and a small box up to the Major. After a moment he took it. “They don’t look like much. Certainly not something to risk so much for.” Eroica continued.

“I’ll leave NATO to solve that puzzle. My mission was only to capture the blackmailers. That is achieved and we’d better leave this place now.” And with that the Major turned and left the room. Pausing only once again to close the safe, Eroica followed.

They’d left the building as easily as they’d entered. Once outside the gates, the Major noticed that some of Eroica’s men had arrived. He turned to B for an explanation.

“We might have called them. We thought they were part of your plan.” B grinned pathetically. The Major ignored him and turned to A who was waiting as faithfully as ever. Z was in the car with the captured men.

“Good job, Mr. A. Now take these men back to London NATO headquarters. The drinking club Georgioni’s was their base. Get reinforcements take, seal and search the place. Z should have phoned ahead to make arrangements.” The Major handed over the items from the second safe. “Add this to the items in the other bag. Have them sent by secure courier to Bonn.”

“Aren’t you coming with us sir?” A looked surprised.

“I’ll take Cairns’ car and will join you tomorrow, I have some details to sort out here first.” The Major felt a momentary pang of guilt, but he ignored it. His job had been to catch these men, it wasn’t really part of his remit to interrogate them. That had never stopped him before, but this time he was happy enough to leave that to others. Cairns being involved should have changed that, but right now he had something much more important to sort out. He watched his agents leave. He was pleased with them, they had done well and he would be sure to say so in the report. Eroica’s men were leaving too.

It wasn’t until the cars had left that Eroica spoke. “And what details have you to sort out here?” Eroica fluttered his eyelashes.

The Major turned to the thief. Dorian, standing in the moonlight was the loveliest thing he’d ever seen. “I just wanted to say what I felt when I saw you with Cairns’ gun to your head.”

Dorian looked disappointed, he thought, ‘This isn’t what I expected. Please… don’t let all my hard work be undone.’

“And what was that? That I’m incapable of staying out of trouble and need a keeper?” Dorian sounded annoyed.

“No.” Klaus courage almost deserted him, but after a long pause he said: “That I would have done anything to save you.”

Dorian’s face lit up at the calm words and Klaus watched as Dorian closed the distance between them and gently laid his palm on Klaus’ cheek. Klaus felt the warmth of the touch and closed his eyes to concentrate on the feeling completely. When he opened them again he saw Dorian’s ecstatic face before him and he smiled back fondly.

“You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for you to say that.” Dorian said, his eyes bright. They stood for a while savouring the moment. Then Dorian drew back.

“So, are you going to give me a lift back home? All my men have already left.”

Klaus nodded and they walked to Cairns’ car. They drove in silence to Dorian’s castle, where he walked Dorian to the entrance. The lights were on and Bonham opened the door before they reached it. Several of Dorian’s men were in the hallway, they were milling around on anonymous errands. Dorian walked through the door and Klaus stopped at the threshold and leant on the stone frame. Dorian looked round, turned, and leant against the corresponding inside section.

“So are you coming in for some Nescafé, my brave NATO agent?” Dorian said seductively. “If you like, you could come up and see my etchings afterwards. I could show you some fascinating things about light and colour.” Dorian ruffled his blond curls suggestively.

Klaus said nothing, but reached out to take Dorian’s hand and entwined their fingers. Had Klaus been aware of anything else but their joined hands, he would have noticed that the hallway had gone quiet. Dorian waited. Suddenly Klaus laughed, a beautiful sound, one ‘till then rarely heard, and moved forward. He picked Dorian up in his arms and spun him round. Dorian took advantage of the closeness to kiss his beloved Major.

“Haven’t you got to go to London to finish off your mission?” Dorian asked wickedly

“To hell with London, and to hell with my mission!” Klaus said vehemently, just before kissing him again. Klaus adjusted his hold upon the thief and, deepening the kiss, effortlessly carried him up the stairs towards the bedroom.

Forgotten in the hallway Bonham watched the departing couple and whispered to Jones, “How you can carry someone up those stairs without looking where you’re going is beyond me!”

“You know the Major, he’s never daunted by a difficult task.” Both men smiled and the smiles turned to giggles, when laughter coming from upstairs was quickly blocked off by a slamming door.


	9. Chapter 9

Moonlight streamed in through the open window. Dorian, woke surrounded by Klaus’ arms. He gently disentangled himself without disturbing his partner and walked to the window. He pulled the curtain back still further. Turning, he sat on the window sill and looked back into the room, lit by a silvery light. Klaus lay sleeping in the bed, he was lying on his front with the bedclothes pushed down below his waist. Klaus was a beautiful man, his skin was delicate and fine, without blemish, and in this light, this setting, he looked like a flawless sculpture. Dorian drank it in.

“My bed, my Major.”

It had been a mammoth task to win him but it had been worthwhile, and Dorian was content. Aesthetic appreciation was wonderful but after a while Dorian could no longer bear to be this far from his heart’s desire and he ached to touch the vision before him and returned to the bed. He woke Klaus just enough to have the arms embrace him once more.

When next he woke it was morning and Klaus was leaning over him and stroking him. “I love the feel of your hair,” Klaus said dreamily.

Dorian ran his hand along the smooth skin of Klaus’ chest then down his flank, it was beautiful. He didn’t think he would ever tire of this, “And I love everything about you, even the things I don’t like.”

Klaus’ look became pained. “I have to leave for London,” he said, “I don’t want to go.”

“I’m not going anywhere. Just…Klaus, be quick and come back to me as soon as you can.” Dorian’s thoughtfulness provoked a loving smile from Klaus, a smile Dorian couldn’t resist and he pulled Klaus down towards him and kissed those smiling lips.

He tasted so good to Dorian, the taste of Klaus was now a part of Dorian’s soul, and Dorian gloried in it. Klaus’ weight was perfect. Dorian gasped and pulled his head down for another deep searching kiss. He rubbed his hands down Klaus flanks again, he felt Klaus writhe on top of him, ecstatic.

“You like being on top,” said Dorian, a little breathlessly.

“Mmmm….” replied Klaus, absently.

Dorian took a deep breath, “Would you like being…” he rolled Klaus over, “underneath?”

“Wherever,” Klaus agreed, still more involved in kissing Dorian than in anything he had to say.

“It’s wonderful,” Dorian said. “Having you in my power.”

“Is it?” replied Klaus. He was still taking little notice. Then he said, “Dorian? What do you have in mind?”

Dorian ran a finger down the side of Klaus’ face. “I want… I want you.”

“You have me,” Klaus puzzled expression took in their intimacy and the rumpled bed.

”No…like…”

“Like I have you,” Klaus realised. “You want to…fuck…me.”

“Yes.” Dorian looked as if he was sure he would be refused.

Klaus thought about it, about himself, about what it would mean for the future. “Very well,” he said.

“I’ll be careful,” Dorian sounded curiously humble – for Dorian.

Klaus smiled, “I know you will.” Despite that he was somewhat nervous as Dorian prepared him. He felt Dorian enter him slowly, he expected pain for some reason, and was obscurely disappointed when the pain was less than he imagined it might be.

He felt Dorian’s breath against the back of his neck and his shoulder and the tickle of Dorian’s long blond hair against his face. He felt also the thrust of Dorian’s penis, now deep within him. He was breathless, if the pain wasn’t as much as he had imagined, the feelings that coursed through him were more than he had expected they ever would be. The sensations were fantastic, pressure inside him, encompassing him. He felt closer to Dorian than he ever had before, felt that Dorian was a part of him.

After a long delirious time Dorian finally came to orgasm, and Klaus became aware of his own throbbing erection. He had completely forgotten it while he concentrated on Dorian within him. He reached for it, but Dorian forestalled him. “Wait,” he said. Dorian licked his lips lasciviously.

At once Klaus’ need was redoubled; he was on his back, Dorian moved to hold him down by the hips, rubbing his erection with his hand keeping him ready. Dorian’s long hair now tickled down his stomach and thighs, and his mouth covered Klaus erection. Klaus cried out as Dorian’s agile tongue and lips moved on him, exciting him still more, and he orgasmed violently into Dorian’s sucking mouth.

Much later Klaus got into Cairns’ car, rolled the window down and kissed Dorian through it. “I’ll be back soon, but it won’t be soon enough. It could never be soon enough,” he said, sadly.

“Go on, go. Go, before I change my mind and decide you can’t leave after all.” Dorian said playfully.  
Klaus smiled and for a moment he considered staying, but he had to get this mission finished. Then he could concentrate on more important matters and maybe he would even have the time to do so. He started the engine, reluctantly he put the car into gear and headed off down the drive. Dorian watched him go then when he was out of sight returned to the castle.  
Later that evening the telephone rang. “Lord Gloria’s residence.”

“Peters, is Dorian there?”

“I’ll get him, Major.” Peters put the call on hold and went to notify Eroica. It was strange to hear the Major sound so reasonable and Peters wondered if it would last.

When told who it was, Dorian rushed to the phone, “Darling! Do you know when you’re coming back?”

“I don’t know. I’m being debriefed. To keep you out of it I have to give them what they want. I can’t leave until I’m finished..”

“Oh! And this is going to go on for a while, is it?” Dorian felt crushed. Already NATO was separating them.

“Several days. But I’m negotiating with the Chief; I’m trying to get the next two weeks off on leave.”  
Dorian liked the idea of two uninterrupted weeks, no missions, no distractions.  
“I’ll just have to manage without you for now. I’ll plan something extravagant for your return!” Dorian heard Klaus laugh, it was a sound he loved, he was just sad it had taken so long for him to hear it.

“I’d rather come back now.”

“I never realised what a romantic you were, deep down.”

“Best keep it to yourself! I have to go, I’ll ring again when I can.”

Dorian sat on the battlements and looked towards London. The last week or so had been an incredibly strange experience. He had never truly in his heart of hearts expected to win Klaus, or that when he did Klaus would be quite so devoted. The lovemaking was a surprise, too. Dorian wondered when the last time was that he had had a virgin. Always an interesting experience that, but he certainly had no complaints, what Klaus lacked in experience he made up for in enthusiasm. It was delightful the way Klaus touched him, it was like a starving man at a banquet. ‘It’s as if he’s never touched anyone before. As if he’d never realised the simple pleasure of skin on skin. Mind you with his nature that’s probably the case.’

Bonham, Jones and Peters sat in the lounge looking over plans of likely targets. “You know I never thought he’d get him, did you?” asked Peters.

“Never, I always considered it one of the Earl’s pipe dreams. I mean he wasn’t just playing hard to get, his game was more ‘touch me and you die’. The Earl certainly put up with some high volume abuse.”

“Ah, but they are alike, always chasing the impossible and this time the Earl got it.”

“He seems different now. I didn’t know the Major had heard of laughter let alone be capable of it,” Jones said.

Bonham remembered the Major carrying the Earl up the stairs, wondered at the strength that implied. “I wonder what he’s like…you know…in bed,” Bonham smiled conspiratorially to the others, “Do you think he lives up to the ‘Iron Klaus’ nickname?”

The other two looked at him quite shocked. It was still hard to think of the Major in those terms. Imagining the Major intimate with anything, let alone the Earl, was difficult, and the concept of discussing his performance was alien, even alarming. However, never a band to remain conventional, they began to debate the issue.

“Well, whatever he does, there’s no denying he’d grace any bed. Beauty like his is very persuasive.”

“Do you think he issues orders?” Peters was trying not to giggle

“Do you think the Earl would obey them?” Jones managed to say before starting to laugh.

“Oh, yes. Given the proper incentives I can see him being very co-operative.” Bonham was in danger of falling off his chair.

“You never know, after this he might become human,” said Jones.

The three men looked serious for a moment.

“Naaah…” They all said and started laughing again. In many ways they would be disappointed if he did.


	10. Chapter 10

The doorbell rang, interrupting them, and Peters went to answer it, quickly assuming his all-correct butler exterior.

Standing in the doorway was a young man in his early twenties. Sandy haired, pretty, but with a rather weak chin. Peters recognised him, he had been at the same school as Eroica, but in a later year. Peters knew that he and the Earl had been casual lovers for a time. He also – vaguely – felt that they’d burgled the lad’s father’s house for a rather fine Gauguin. He hoped that wasn’t the reason the boy was looking so upset.

All this passed through Peters’ mind in an instant before the lad said, “Hello Peters, is Dorian in? I’m rather desperate to see him.”

“Yes, Mr. Frederick, he is. Let me show you to the library.”

Dorian came into the library to see his friend sobbing, his soft heart was moved. “Freddie? Darling? Whatever is the matter?” he said.

“Oh! Oh, Dorian! It’s just terrible!” The sobbing broke out again.

Later that evening Bonham entered carrying some drinks. He was surprised to see the new arrival in the Earl’s arms. Dorian looked up from kissing the tearful boy, stood, and then helped Freddie to his feet. “Oh Bonham, don’t worry about those, we’ll be going upstairs now.”

“My Lord, can I speak to you for a moment? It’s rather urgent.”

“Certainly. Freddie, I’ll be back in a moment.” Dorian looked surprised and worried.

Once in the lounge, Bonham couldn’t contain himself any longer. “My Lord, I think you’re about to make a dreadful mistake.”

“What on earth do you mean? What’s the matter? Has someone been caught?”

“Not yet. Have you considered how the Major is going to react if he finds out about this?”

“Oh Bonham, don’t be so silly! Freddie is a dear friend who needs some comfort tonight. Why shouldn’t I give it to him? Don’t look at me like that, you know there’s never been only one. You know my philosophy is to live without being bound to anybody. It doesn’t affect the Major and he won’t be a problem. Leave it to me.”

“I can’t say I’ve had your intimacy with him, but I find that hard to believe.” Bonham was desperate to make the Earl believe he was serious, that this was important.

He failed. Dorian said: “If that was all this drama was about, then I’m going to bed to comfort a friend.” Dorian waltzed out and left Bonham shaking his head in sorrow.

Klaus pulled up outside Eroica’s castle. He got out of the car and stood by the open door and looked around. It was a beautiful morning, just after dawn, and he walked to the edge of the drive, where the view was better, and stood for a moment to enjoy the scenery. He lit a cigarette and smiled. It was strange, there must have been so many beautiful mornings, so many places with views, why could he not remember a single one of them? Klaus’ smile widened and he tilted his head back to blow smoke into the air above him.

The debriefing was over. Now the mission was finished, and now it was the moment that, even before, he’d always enjoyed; that brief respite between successfully completing one mission and starting another. Ahead of him were two whole weeks in Dorian’s company. Klaus stood, enjoying the feeling of anticipation.

As much as he was enjoying the view, seeing Dorian would be better. He turned, finished his cigarette, put the stub in the car ashtray, and rang the bell. While waiting for a response he noticed a strange car in the driveway.

‘Dorian must have visitors,’ Klaus thought. He was disappointed, he’d hoped for privacy for their reunion.

Eventually, a worried-looking Bonham answered the door.

Klaus smiled at him as he passed and started up the staircase.

“Major, eh… please could you wait in the library.”

Unfortunately for Bonham, there were many things about Klaus that had not changed; his determination not to be diverted from a chosen course of action being one. Klaus climbed the staircase with Bonham in his wake trying to persuade the Major to return downstairs. When they reached Eroica’s bedroom door they found Jones, who was pounding on it.

“My Lord!” Jones said, “Wake up! Get up! Major Eberbach’s here!”

Klaus was confused; what was the matter he’d been here before and there’d been no panic then. It was, he knew, far too early for Dorian to be up and he’d spent the journey up happily devising ways to awaken him. At last there was a response.

“Oh, tell him to wait downstairs, we’ll be down shortly.”

‘We?’ Suddenly there was a sinking feeling in Klaus’ stomach. He had to see what was on the other side of the door. Klaus pulled Jones aside and charged the door. It was an old oak door with a strong lock – it never stood a chance. Standing in the splinters Klaus’ world tottered. Dorian lay in bed with a stranger, a pretty boy barely out of his teens who looked wide eyed in fear at the intruder. Klaus could feel Bonham and Jones cringing behind him. Dorian was unabashed

“Darling, I wasn’t expecting you yet. It’s touching, if hard on the woodwork, to know you want to see me so much.” Dorian got up and walked towards the silent Major.

“I’ve been a complete fool.” Klaus said under his breath

“Oh! I don’t believe you’ve met Freddie.” Dorian indicated the boy in the bed. Klaus was astounded Dorian was trying to brazen his way out of this. “Come on, let’s go downstairs and chat over breakfast.” Dorian made to touch Klaus who quickly backed away into the corridor.

Dorian looked slightly abashed. “Oh, darling! Please don’t be upset! This doesn’t change anything between us. Freddie was just so sweet and lonely. You know how it is.” And with Eroica’s lack of remorse Klaus’ world, mortally wounded, collapsed

“Obviously I don’t, and I have no wish to find out! I have been such a fool! I fooled myself into believing that you were capable of considering another person’s feelings. That you understood what commitment was. I used to think you were a pervert, now I know exactly what you are.” Klaus’ voice was surprisingly calm and even. There was none of the expected yelling. Klaus turned on his heel, pushed past Bonham and Jones and started towards the stairs. Dorian jumped forward to grasp Klaus by the elbow, but Klaus was quicker. He’d turned, avoided Eroica’s touch and drawn his gun to point it at Eroica’s forehead. Stillness reigned.

“Touch me again and I’ll kill you.” Klaus felt he ought to be screaming but inside he felt numb. Now all he wanted to do was leave. He walked unmolested to the main door and slammed it behind him. He got into his car and drove away without looking back.

Klaus had no idea where he was going. His mind was blank and he drove on auto-pilot. At some point he noticed that the land had become very flat and empty. No villages, no people, nothing. This landscape reminded him of himself and he avoided the scattered towns. Eventually the car began to cough, then it stopped and wouldn’t restart. Klaus wondered briefly what was wrong, but then abandoned it and started to walk. Whenever signs of human habitation appeared he altered his direction to miss them.

It became dark, then light again. Eventually he saw a small wood and headed for it. It was an isolated area of green in a vista of grey. It was somewhere to go. Despite his exertions he still felt empty, and he walked on.

Inside the wood a small stream gurgled and sparkled as it flowed past the path he walked down. Yesterday morning he would have called it beautiful, now he had no idea what it was. Suddenly tired, he collapsed on the muddy bank and the numbness evaporated, leaving him exposed to the pain, the breaking of his heart. He howled like an animal in pain and finally, when his throat was sore, he could remember what had happened.

For Klaus nothing had changed. He had never been liked and his men still wouldn’t like him. His servants would still view him with dread, and he told himself he still didn’t care. But it was a lie, and he knew it.

He didn’t want self-knowledge, he had lived for a long time without it, but like an unwanted Christmas present from an elderly and easily annoyed relation, it was with him and couldn’t be returned. His life had changed completely. Dorian had found his heart. ‘Iron Klaus’ had laughed, smiled and had briefly understood what happiness truly was. And now, now the mysteries of misery were his to contemplate.

Although life before might have been empty and pointless he had never noticed. Now that he knew, how could he ever return to it? It wasn’t until you touched the stars that you knew how far below the earth really was. And Klaus knew, for he had fallen every inch. Dorian had been cruel, he had seen an emotionally stunted creature and had taken delight in making him realise that there was more to life than he had ever before seen. Then Dorian had taken his stars away, leaving him with the nothing he had had before. Klaus looked up to the trees and saw little solace there.

“What have I done? What I have become?”

And a dark voice inside his own head answered him: ‘What you’ve done is betray everything you ever believed in and everyone you respect. What you’ve become is a pervert, a traitor and a man without honour.’

“But it was for love! I did it for love!”

‘No, you did it for lust. You gave in to your disgusting urges.’

“No! No! It wasn’t like that! I love him!”

‘You love him? Ha! And where is this love of yours? Is he standing by you, guiding you through this new, strange and terrible world? No. He’s lying in bed with another man. Telling him his sweet lies. “I love you, Freddie.”’

“Nooo!” Klaus heard himself cry out.

But his dark inner voice continued mimicking Dorian, ‘It doesn’t affect us Klaus. It’s just a casual fling.’ and again in the same achingly familiar voice: ‘It doesn’t affect us, Freddie. It’s just a casual fling’

“Stop! Please stop!” Klaus begged as he threw himself forward and raked his fingers through the earth and fallen leaves in his agony.

‘Did you think you were special?’ the dark voice continued. ‘Did you really think you were the only one? You were just one more notch on his bedpost, one more in an ever lengthening list of conquests. Don’t tell me you thought he actually cared for you. How could he care for something as disgusting as you? You’re filthy.’

“I will be clean!” Klaus screamed. Desperately he flung his jacket from him and tore off his shirt. Scrambling forward to kneel in the stream he scrubbed frantically at his chest, but that only cleaned the surface, it was what was inside that needed to be purged. Taking the knife he always carried he cut repeatedly at himself, trying to remove the memory of Dorian from his mind and body and red rain fell into the water. Then sitting on his heels Klaus flung his head back and sucked in air. Physical pain washed over him and it was good, the only wholesome thing he could feel. But the cleansing pain wouldn’t last. Too late he moved to cut himself again, but the voice spoke first drowning him in the cruel words.

‘You’ve been a whore, a cheap conquest.’

“No, I was worse than that!” the Major sobbed into the fast running water and cut at himself again with the knife. “I paid him to sodomise and destroy me.”

And the final insult? Something that was destined to make his every hour a living hell? The mental torture that made him desperate for the respite offered only by physical pain? Despite everything, he still wanted and would always continue to want, his shallow, self centred and worthless corrupter. He was pathetic. He had invited this. He deserved it.

Klaus, unable to bear this torture, felt his insides crack and the world became distorted. Externally the blankness of the earlier walk claimed him, his eyes glazed and his stare became unfocused. Birds broke forth cawing alarm into air. It seemed colder, but Eberbach didn’t feel the change. He didn’t feel anything.


	11. Chapter 11

It was evening when A rang Dorian’s castle. Dorian had been busy in the few hours between Klaus storming off and the call. He’d calmed Freddie down from the terrifying experience of Klaus bursting into the bedroom; fortified him enough so that he felt capable of facing the outside world and waved him off. Next he’d walked through the gardens deciding how to spend the two weeks with Klaus. He planned romantic flights to candlelit restaurants and sunny beaches. He was irritated that they were going to lose a day of the leave but Dorian knew Klaus wouldn’t come back sooner for fear of losing face. Despite being so occupied, however, he never flagged in his main activity; not talking to, or looking at Bonham. Their conversation just after Klaus had left had been most unpleasant and unnecessary.

“You’re letting him go? You’re not going after him?” Bonham said in disbelief after Dorian had called him back from fetching the car.

“He didn’t strike me as open to reason.” Dorian said coolly. “Don’t worry, I’ll give him till tomorrow to come back to shout at me, if he’s not here by then I’ll ring his London flat and he can shout at me over the phone. When he’s all bellowed out he’ll feel better, I’ll be able to make him understand, we’ll make up and it’ll be fine. You’ll see. I’ve persuaded him over worse before.” Dorian raised his eyebrows suggestively. “He’s finally realised I have what he wants and he’s not a man to let go of that.”

Bonham was stunned. Normally he found the Earl’s self absorption endearing. Now it was just incredible.

“Did we both see the same thing? My Lord, I really don’t think a little time and a few decibels are going to sort this out. I’ve never seen the Major like that. Please go after him before he gets too far away.” Bonham was pleading.

“Oh Bonham, you’re overreacting. One misunderstanding and you think it’s all over. I’m well aware of my appeal. All it needs is the right outfit, the right setting. I’ll look gorgeous, he’ll come back. He’ll shout, then apologise and we’ll go to bed. Easy.”

Bonham, shaking his head and unable to listen any more, retreated downstairs. Dorian, convinced of his argument, returned to Freddie.

After returning to the castle Dorian had passed the time investigating his wardrobe, looking for the perfect outfit. Nothing overt, that would irritate Klaus more than placate him. What he needed was something that showed him off in his full glory but looked practical. Dorian knew his strengths and prided himself on his skill in utilising them. He took full advantage of his appearance and was not averse to using it as a weapon.

A’s phone call interrupted him in the appraisal of a promising blue outfit.

A said, “My Lord, may I speak to the Major. There has been an important development in the interrogation.”

“My dear, I would love to let you, but I’m afraid he’s not here.”

“He never arrived? His mobile isn’t being answered and he gave you as a contact should we need him. He must have had an accident on the way.” A sounded alarmed.

“Calm down, he arrived but left fairly quickly. I expect him back either tonight or tomorrow, I’ll pass on your message then.”

“But he didn’t say where he was going?” A sounded dubious. He was right, it was true it was unlike the Major to vanish. Dorian was tempted to explain but decided against it.

“Try his London flat if it’s urgent?” That was where Dorian expected him to be.

“I will. Thank you, my Lord,” with that A rang off and Dorian returned to his wardrobe.

Later, brooding in the dark, Dorian hoped Klaus wouldn’t answer the phone. If this matter were important it could delay their holiday and Dorian had such wonderful plans.

The evening passed and Klaus did not return. Dorian remained unworried, he hadn’t really expected him so soon. Bonham, however, seemed to be taking the absence of the Major quite hard and wasn’t speaking to Dorian.

The next day dawned and still no Klaus. The afternoon remained devoid of his presence. The evening came but the expected visitor didn’t. Dorian sighed, went to the phone and dialled Klaus’ London flat. The phone rang unanswered. Klaus’ mobile was rung next. The automatic answerphone connected. Dorian’s heart leapt at his love’s voice, even though it was recorded.

“Major Eberbach, leave your message.” Curt, clipped, unfriendly; it was so like his beloved Major. Dorian, momentarily lost to his memories, collected himself to leave a message. Be conciliatory, he told himself.

“Major, I need to talk to you, to apologise. I have been a fool. Let me show you I’m sincere. Please contact me. I’ll meet you anywhere you like.” Dorian put just the right amount of emotion in his voice. Enough to show he meant what he was saying but not too much to offend Klaus.

All he had left to do was wait. Unfortunately waiting wasn’t one of his strengths, he resented dead time. In the next room he could hear Bonham and Jones talking, and just over them the sound of the TV news. There was a sudden hush as someone switched it off, and he heard Jones say, “Well, who cares about the death of some foreign Princess anyway? It’s just the media creating news.”

“Jones! That’s not fair! Poor Princess Stephanie! I wouldn’t want anyone to die in that kind of an accident, wrapped round a pillar in a German underpass! And she was a lot less of a parasite than our lot…”

As the decibel level next door rose, Dorian closed the door. He didn’t need that. Not right now.

Night fell, Dorian remained awake. This was becoming vexing. It was fair that Klaus should be angry with him, but this snit was eating into the precious time they had planned to spend together. If these two weeks were wasted Dorian didn’t know the next time they would be able to arrange a holiday around both their schedules. It really was most inconsiderate.

Dorian wondered if Klaus had returned to work just to punish him. Yes, that would be the case. He would ring A in the morning.

A was harder to reach than Dorian had expected. It appeared that the whole team had left London and returned to Bonn. Dorian quickly found out that he was ‘not authorised’, as it was put, to know if Klaus or the prisoners had gone with them.

Undeterred Dorian rang A in Bonn. Finally he reached him. It was still early morning but already A sounded harassed.

“A darling, is the Major there?”

“He’s in a meeting with the Chief at the moment. It should be finished in the next half hour.”

‘Oh Klaus, darling,’ Dorian thought. ‘I thought we had got over the hard to get routine.’

“I’ll call his number then. Thank you, Mr. A.” Dorian was about to hang up when A’s frantic voice called him back.

“My Lord, the Major didn’t seem different when you saw him last did he?”

“No. He pointed a gun at me which is quite normal. Why, is something the matter?”

After having raised the subject A seemed reluctant to continue. “Um… No not really I suppose. I… just wondered if you’d noticed anything. I shouldn’t have spoken. Goodbye, Lord Gloria.”

Dorian was perplexed and starting to get worried. Then he realised what A had been talking about. Klaus must have taken Freddie far too seriously, thought it was all over and was nursing a broken heart. Dorian smiled. One phone call and this silly misunderstanding could be cleared up.

This surety lasted until the moment Eberbach answered the phone.

“Eberbach,” said the much missed voice.

“Major, it’s me. I was a fool. Please let me apologise.” Dorian pitched his tone just right, knowing precisely what inflections irritated or pleased the Major.

“Lord Gloria, your apologies are unnecessary. The mission was successfully resolved and I am now involved in another one. You helped, you were paid. If NATO ever has the need for your services again I’m sure you’ll be contacted.”

Dorian was too stunned to reply. It was not the words; they were more or less what he had expected. It was the tone. Eberbach’s tone was of complete disinterest. Dorian had expected angry, hurt, bitter; not this complete lack of emotion.

“Don’t you remember what happened?” Dorian at last managed to stutter.

“I remember everything. It is of no interest. Goodbye.”

“Major! Wait!” Dorian cried out desperate to reach Eberbach. This emotionlessness; he couldn’t believe it was real. It had to be Eberbach’s way of punishing him.

“Yes,” Eberbach’s voice was patient. No hint of an outburst on the horizon.

“I meant what I said after the job and I know you did as well. Please, we can work this out.”

“Lord Gloria, I don’t understand why you have called. Unless you have any additional information pertaining to the case, I see no reason for you to contact me.”

With that the phone went dead and he was gone. It wasn’t until several later tries and after speaking with A and Z that Dorian realised that Eberbach really was gone.

Detective Sergeant Miles sighed and wondered if he should start believing in Karma. What else could account for the fact that he was always assigned to the really unpleasant cases. It was his own fault, really, for solving so many, and thereby getting a reputation so suddenly every gruesome murder in Greater London was irresistibly attracted to his in tray. This time however, Miles felt particularly aggrieved. His caseload was full, the mortar attack investigation was getting nowhere and the last thing he needed was to be dragged out to Walthamstow purely because the crime scene was too nasty for anyone else to deal with. Sometimes there were days when Miles really wished he’d become a hairdresser.

Now he was waiting outside one of the many unoccupied shops on Lea Bridge Road. This one was special, however, as Miles knew very well. Not quite as well as the new tenant who’d turned up to start the refit only to end up vomiting into the gutter outside. At least that unfortunate man hadn’t had to look at the head in the saucepan closely enough to recognise who it used to be. He hadn’t realised immediately, but then he had never met Colonel Cairns before, he just remembered him from the photos outside Major Eberbach’s office.

‘At least something useful came from my wasted time.’ Miles thought as he waited. ‘However, as punishment from above I now have to freeze to death waiting for his highness Major Eberbach to turn up.’

Never had quickly identifying a body caused so much hassle. Miles had thought that NATO would have been grateful to have learnt the fate of one of it’s operatives. But oh no, instead they’d demanded that the police leave the crime scene untouched and wait for Miles’ favourite Major to deign to appear.

“Come on you arrogant German! Get here before my feet fall off.”

Fortunately for the sake of Miles’ extremities at that moment a Mercedes arrived, but the man who got out of it was quite different from the man Miles was expecting. Oh, he looked the same, but the arrogance and the barely suppressed irritation was missing. Instead was an eerie blankness. Miles watched as the man drifted towards him.

“Shall we go in?” Eberbach said to the wall over Miles’ shoulder as he exhaled smoke from a cigarette.

“So Major, what’s so important about Colonel Cairns that a police investigation had to be delayed until you arrived. Murder is murder, even if a NATO official is involved.” Miles said, opened the shop and led the way into the gorily redecorated kitchen.

“This particular NATO operative had been arrested for blackmail, murder and burglary.” Answered Eberbach blandly.

“Maybe NATO should reconsider it’s recruitment policy,” answered Miles surprised that Eberbach had been forthcoming with the information. Their previous encounter had not led him to expect co-operation. Miles decided to try his luck further. “But if he was arrested how come he’s now spread all over a Wathamstow kitchen? Or is this standard NATO disciplinary procedure?”

“No, but I might recommend it in future.” said Eberbach as he walked easily across the rubbish strewn room. “Colonel Cairns was released into the custody of a man with the required paperwork to transfer the prisoner to Bonn. They were filmed leaving. I suspect Cairns thought he was being rescued. Perhaps he should have had a better taste in friends.”

They had reached the kitchen and Eberbach waited glacially for Miles to open the door. Miles felt that civilisations could have risen and fallen before Eberbach would have noticed the delay. Once inside Miles waited for some reaction to the blood splattered, intestine strewn, limb infested murder site. None came.

“Excellent interrogation technique,” said Eberbach casually, as he stood over a part of the body.

“You call this mess an interrogation technique.” Miles was almost speechless with disgust. How did this strange man question his suspects if he thought this was acceptable?

“Oh, no” Eberbach replied gently, smiling slightly “The mess was after the interrogation.” Eberbach drifted aimlessly between the pools of coagulating blood. “It was the killer’s reward to himself for getting the information he was after. You can always tell when a man enjoys his work.”


	12. Chapter 12

Eberbach had wandered over to the stove and lifted the lid on the saucepan there. Miles was tempted to ask for evidence but them decided against it. Miles knew when not to question an expert. Eberbach was much closer to the mind of a madman that he himself ever wanted to be. Eberbach drifted back towards Miles, inhaled on his cigarette and tapped ash onto the floor. Miles considered, for a mad moment, asking him to put the cigarette out; it might be ruining evidence, but he decided he didn’t care enough to risk his skin. Meanwhile Eberbach had randomly arrived back at the door and had placed a photograph on a less bloody surface.

“Oh. One other thing, the man who left with Cairns, and most likely killed him, I recognised as the man who drove the van in the mortar attack on Lord McNaughton. That’s a still from our video. We’ve identified him as Steve Joseph, he has an international reputation as an interrogator. Not that anyone he interrogated ever lived to give their opinion on his abilities.” Eberbach said gesturing loosely at the photograph. “So, detective, it appears you have a serial killer with a taste for high profile targets on the loose, ” Eberbach smiled broadly and added. “If I were you I’d worry.” And with that, he was gone. The bloody room seemed a nicer place. Miles once more had a yearning for the simple life of the hairdryer and the curling tong.

Bonham watched Eroica. There was no denying it, the flighty Earl was out of sorts and had been for some time. Since he’d finally realised a certain NATO officer had walked out of this life. The jobs didn’t inspire him any more, the challenges no longer interested or excited him the way they used to. He certainly cared less about his appearance, no longer did the Earl cut such an outrageous and dazzling figure, but that didn’t matter, as he wasn’t about town. Invitations to soirées and smart parties went unanswered and reports of pretty potential conquests were ignored.

All the Earl now did was watch 24 hour news. Suddenly stories of Vatican Bank representatives found hanging under bridges, Amnesty International and conferences on the harm mining caused the environment were of interest when they never had been before.

Bonham was worried for both the Earl and the Major. Needing to know what had happened Bonham contacted A and arranged a time to ring when A could speak freely. A seemed relieved to get the story off his chest.

“Bonham is there a place on your team? We’re under huge stress here and, if it continues, I’m applying to Alaska. Cairns escaped, did you know? An accomplice turned up with forged documents to transfer him to Bonn. That’s why we were so desperate to contact the Major last week. What happened? He was missing for over a day.”

Bonham took a deep breath, preparing to speak. He hardly recognised A, he sounded so frantic.

“Anyway,” continued A before Bonham had a chance to reply. “We finally got a call from a pub in Norfolk. It was the Major demanding a car to take him to London and a change of clothes. He wouldn’t say how he got there, what had happened to his car or his clothes, but the man who returned in the car we sent! My God Bonham, he looked the same but it just wasn’t the Major anymore. It’s like working for a ghost!”

Bonham took another breath, and tried once again to speak. He didn’t manage it, A was off again.

“My nerves just can’t stand it! At least he’s away investigating a report that Cairns’ body has been found, leaving us to decode the paperwork we captured with him, and recovered from that drinking club, Georgioni’s. I’ve never worked so hard in my life.”

“Slow down,” said Bonham in the soothing voice he used when James was hysterical.

A started again, still breathless as if he couldn’t wait to get it all out. “I’m terrified what the Major might do if we don’t crack it before he gets back. We just need him to stay away a little longer and we’ll have it. I can’t tell you about them Bonham, but this is big, very big. And there’s the stuff they recovered from the safe.”

“What stuff?” asked Bonham.

“Documents, technical descriptions of some sort. Forensics hasn’t been able to make head nor tale of any of it. Then there’s the…thing…and God knows what that is. We’ve tried contacting the research company that owned the house, you know the one that contained the safe? But they say the only person who used it recently was a Dr. Ellison and he committed suicide four three weeks ago. Well I say suicide, that verdict is now looking increasingly suspect. Look I’ll talk more another time, Z has just turned up.” and A rang off before Bonham could say goodbye.

Bonham hadn’t been reassured by the conversation. In fact he was more worried than ever. He wanted to tell the Earl what he had done and that he’d brought this grief upon himself, that he should have listened, but that wouldn’t help. Right now he needed to galvanise the Earl into action.

“My Lord,” he started.

His master looked up at him, his blue eyes were dulled and his blond hair lank. “Yes?” even the voice was flat.

“You’re not well.” The understatement of the century, but Bonham hadn’t be able to think of anything better.

The Earl sighed. “I know I’m poor company. Nothing is worth the effort any more.”

“It’s not too late, My Lord. All you need is a plan.”

A had walked round the large open plan office fourteen times since he’d heard that Major Eberbach’s plane had landed. The other agents sat watching him circle; A noticed that C, D and F, replacements for the dead agents and new to the team, looked particularly nervous. He was too excited to sit down. They had done it! Cairns’ documents had been decoded! All it had taken was one week of intensive work from the entire team. A couldn’t wait to tell Eberbach. He could lay it as an offering at the strange man’s feet and hoped that it pleased him. The old Major would have accepted the information with barely an acknowledgement. A had no idea what the new Eberbach would do.

On lap fifteen and a half the door opened, the temperature dropped and Eberbach floated into the room. Randomly he arrived at his desk and sat down behind it.

“So you think you’ve cracked Cairns’ code. I hope you’re right, Cairns is certainly in no position to help us with it.” Eberbach said to the room in general.

Taking this as an invitation to present their findings A stepped forward, closely followed by B, Z and G. Taking a deep breath and screwing up his courage in the face of Eberbach’s disjointed attention, A explained, “We managed to decode Cairns’ documents when we saw that…”

“Mr. A,” Eberbach interrupted. “I only need to know what information the documents contained. Your skill at decoding them can be taken for granted.”

“Yes sir. The documents list Cairns’ blackmail victims, what they were being blackmailed for and but not what they had to do or pay.”

Eberbach’s silence prompted the agents to continue.

“Well, sir, the list is long but it does include Major Hövermann, Lord McNaughton, William Temple, the author, Princess Stephanie and Alberto Venerandi, the Vatican Bank London representative.”

“All now very dead,” Z offered. “Which doesn’t make sense as dead people make very poor blackmail victims.”

“They do, however, make excellent confidants. So what were they being blackmailed to do.” Eberbach said, examining the grain on his desk.

“We don’t know, but it seems an incredible coincidence that Princess Stephanie has recently stopped protesting about the mistreatment of mine workers, especially in Belsornia; Lord McNaughton and William Temple withdrew their article about the exploitation of the West by various companies mines in Africa,” A continued.

“We managed to get a draft from William Temple’s widow, the article uses the Belsornian mines as an important example.” G said, desperate to show that they had researched their information well.

“And Alberto Venerandi was about to invest a very large sum in the Ungowa mine in Belsornia,” A added.

“It still doesn’t make sense,” B added. “According to the documents William Temple had refused to co-operate, Lord McNaughton was being paid to co-operate. Only Princess Stephanie and Alberto Venerandi were actually being successfully blackmailed. Yet all are dead. And other victims are still alive.”

“Perhaps you should look more closely at the time of their deaths.” Eberbach advised the ceiling.

A nearly dropped the documents he was holding in his urgency to comply with Eberbach’s gentle request.

“The co-operating victims, Princess Stephanie and Alberto Venerandi, were murdered after Cairns was captured. The uncooperative ones, Lord McNaughton and William Temple, were murdered earlier,” Z announced.

Eberbach seemed to be expecting more as he regarded the dust over the agents shoulders..

“Someone is closing down the blackmail operation by murdering the victims,” G stuttered.

“So either the blackmailing has achieved it’s purpose or these new people think that the victims could lead us to them or they think that since Cairns’ arrest the organisation is so compromised that they have to close it down and start again,” Z added before Eberbach could prompt them by his further lack of attention.

“Or perhaps it’s outlandish murders were attracting too much attention. Then possibly the closedown operation could have begun much earlier,” Eberbach said. He might have been taking to himself, it was hard to tell.

“Yes sir. The deaths after Cairns’ capture have looked like suicide or accidents. Before it they were really bizarre,” A said.

Eberbach smiled, previously a rare event, now more common but very eerie. “So how many living examples do we have left?”

“Four, Major,” A replied.

“Who need to be protected at once,” A quickly added and moved to carry out this order.

“A, don’t approach these people until after the murder attempts,” Eberbach advised lightly. “They’ll be much more co-operative that way. Also, I want the assassins captured alive and brought back here to NATO headquarters. I really hope you won’t disappoint me, A. I’ve decided I really don’t like being disappointed.”

No bellow could have put the fear of Eberbach into the agents as effectively as that gentle comment. Scared, they rushed to make arrangements and, more importantly, leave that insubstantial presence.

Very few things in life are as straightforward as one hopes, and so it proved with the case of the London mission. A was in charge and he took G, H, and the rest of the team from L to Z. G was close to breakdown, he’d always been very fond of the Major, even though he made his life difficult; he was heartbroken by his current condition and A thought he needed with a break from the constant strain.

They had established that there were four people who needed immediate protection, and with eighteen people each could be assigned four, with two left over to co-ordinate activities. A assigned himself to guard one Antonia Foster-Blake, a senior civil servant in the Treasury Department, along with G, H and Z. L, M, N and O were sent to guard the German ambassador to British, Gerhard Wittrock, P Q R and S were assigned Moreton Francis, a film star, though what the Organisation had wanted with him remained unclear, and T, U, V and W were to guard the Director General of the BBC, Peter Sixsmith. That left X and Y at the hotel trying to keep track of them all.

Antonia Foster-Blake followed a predictable pattern, up at 06:15, the lights went on. She was out of the house at 07:15 and in the office in Whitehall by 08:15 on most days, depending on the traffic. She worked until 19:30 on most days and was home by 20:30. She went to bed…the lights were off…at 10:30. It seemed unlikely that such a woman, a life run like clockwork and as far as anyone could see with few excitements could have any secrets with which to be blackmailed. But Antonia Foster-Blake had a past, as a student she had paid her way through University in America by working as a stripper. Her past had come back to haunt her, and A felt rather sorry for her.

They maintained an unobtrusive watch on the house in Finchley, following her as she travelled to work each day and then following her home again. It was rather dull, and A somewhat envied P and his team. Moreton Francis kept up a hectic schedule of dinners, parties, opening nights and more parties. Antonia Foster-Blake was predictable. They were unable to follow her into work, getting passes to the Treasury building proved more of a problem than they had expected, but C, still back in Bonn, said that they would be sent as soon as was practicable.

On Saturday A and G observed Mrs Foster-Blake and her husband leave for the shopping centre at Brent Cross. Their car was a dark blue Mercedes, which though it was fairly new could have done with a wash. They parked it in the multi-storey car park at IKEA. A and G followed dutifully. Mrs Foster-Blake climbed out of the car, Mr Foster-Blake was a few seconds behind her. Suddenly a small white Peugeot sped round the corner and screeched to a halt beside the Foster-Blake’s Mercedes, and shots rang out. Mrs Foster-Blake dropped to the floor and G ran to her. A stamped on the accelerator, and followed the white car. It crashed through the barrier, and pulled out onto the main road. A followed as closely as he could, radioing in to X and Y as he did so. He couldn’t afford to lose sight of the white car.

He wouldn’t have expected to be assisted by Saturday morning traffic but the North Circular was busy and that kept his quarry’s speed down. He grinned to himself. At Hangar Lane gyratory he got a good look at them, two men one tall and dark-haired, the other with receding blond hair. The gunmen tried to pull away, but the natural vexatiousness of the British motorist made that impossible. A grinned to himself, he’d encountered that problem.

As soon as the lights changed the gunmen tried to speed off again, but a small green Morris Minor was in their way, and A waved at the driver and got a grin in reply. Heading south towards the M4 junction the traffic slowed again, and A caught up with his quarry. Knowing it would be setting up trouble for later, A pulled his gun from the glove compartment, and aimed at the front tyre on the Peugeot. They were stationary, so it was an easy shot. The shot seemed to shock the two gunmen into immobility. Keeping his gun on then A threw them his handcuffs and they obligingly cuffed themselves to the steering wheel of the Peugeot, the A called X and Y, and then the local Police. Two suspects in the bag. More than suspects, they’d tried to shoot a Treasury Under-Secretary stone dead. That was the easy part.


	13. Chapter 13

Moreton Francis lived behind high walls. Even so a gaggle of young girls were hanging around outside the gates in hope of seeing him. It took them less than a day to notice P’s car and grow suspicious. The local police kept an eye on the girls, and after their second sweep, a uniformed policeman approached P and signalled to him to wind down the window.

“What are you waiting for, sir?” The policeman was tall and dark. A younger woman accompanied him, and started to take a professional look round the car.

P passed his identity card out of the window, and the policeman took it as if it was made of glass and read, carefully.

“And what are you doing here?” the policeman asked.

“Waiting and watching.”

“I see.” Though it was clear he didn’t. “Sir, you’ve already drawn attention to yourselves, if you don’t go Mr. Francis’ fans over there will wonder why not. I’m really sorry about this, but we should have been notified if you were going undercover here.”

“I see,” said P. He started the engine. “Thanks.” And he drove off.

He pulled up two streets away, and turned to Q. “What are we going to do now? We can’t let the Major down.” A single thought of that quiet face was enough for both of them.

“What shall we do?” They had been sitting in silence for some time. Moreton Francis was well-guarded, and they had been told not to approach him, at least, not yet. It rather hampered their options.

“Perhaps he needs help…” suggested P.

“Too right he does.”

“Not that kind. Perhaps we can get in undercover.”

“Seems unlikely, but worth a try. Where do you think we should start?” Q looked round as if someone needing household help might jump up through the road.

“Maybe he needs a gardener.”

“A gardener? I don’t know the first thing about gardening!”

“But I do.”

“Doesn’t seem very likely,” said Q, “most of those kinds of houses have their gardening done on contract by some large firm.”

“All the better. We wait and find out who does the contract and impersonate them.”

“You make it sound so easy.”

So, that was what they did. It wasn’t as easy as P had suggested to get into the gardens, but they did manage it in the end. Two days later found P and Q hacking away at undergrowth in Moreton Francis’s not very well-kept garden. They would have liked to work closer to the house, but the manager of the company had said that Mr. Francis had specifically asked for the old shrubbery to cleared. The best one could say was that it was not gardening that required extensive knowledge, which was probably just as well. P and Q tackled the job with enthusiasm.

At ten thirty a woman brought mugs of tea on a tray and they took a break. They sat, side by side in exhausted silence. Suddenly there came a voice behind them.

“Svdanska? Svdanska? Is it you?” A man, quiet and authoritative. Even the most casual movie goer would have recognised Moreton Francis. P and Q sat in frozen silence.

“It is I,” came a woman’s voice. She didn’t sound pleased and the over-correct grammar proclaimed her to be foreign.

“Have you brought the stuff?” Moreton Francis again. P and Q exchanged meaningful glances, their background information on Francis had suggested that he might be a drug user.

“Yes, I’ve brought it. Do you have the money?”

“Yes, yes. Here.” There was a rustle.

“Is it all there?”

“Would I cheat you, Svadanska.?”

“Not if you value your life, Francis.” The woman sounded arch. “It’s good stuff, you know mine always is.”

“Yes, yes. I know that.”

“And now you want me gone. Don’t worry, Francis. I’ve better things to do than hang around here.” There was another rustle. A few moments later, not long at all, and there was a terrible cry, like a scream, but not really.

P and Q ran towards the sound, but they were too late. Francis was dead. It was quite obvious that he was, his face was covered in green scum, and his body was contorted into an impossible position.

P looked up to see a burgundy Rolls Royce pulling away. With rare good sense, he noted the registration number on the back of his hand. “Go to the house. We’ll have to call the police,” said Q.

“Yes.” There wasn’t much else P could say.

Another day passed.

They traced the car easily. It was registered to Gerhard Wittrock, the German Ambassador to Britain. Coincidentally…or possibly not…Herr Wittrock was the man that L, M, N and O were watching. They were able to guarantee that Herr Wittrock had not been driving the Rolls at the time of Francis’ death. He’d been with his mistress at the time bent over her knee, in a tutu, having his bottom paddled. Or so M told them with the greatest of glee. And anyway, Svdanska was a woman, both P and Q could swear to that.

The results of the autopsy came back very quickly. Intelligence involvement usually saw that it did. It seemed that the cocaine that Moreton Francis had been so eagerly sniffing had been cut with a chemical similar to strychnine. His death, while quick, had not been an easy one.

For the moment they were baffled.

A sent R and S back to Bonn with the two men he had captured. The British police didn’t really want to let them go, NATO was polite but insistent and they went. A reassigned Z and H to assist L, M, N and O in watching Gerhard Wittrock, and X and Y were assigned to Peter Sixsmith, the Director General of the BBC. A himself remained with G at the hotel, co-ordinating in place of X and Y.

The increase in manpower didn’t pay off. One more day into the mission, X and Y were waiting for Peter Sixsmith to leave Broadcasting House. It was around 6pm and Mr Sixsmith was already late.

At 6.27pm an ambulance drew up to the entrance and there was a flurry of activity. They saw Peter Sixsmith being brought out on a stretcher, from the blood on the sheet covering him it was clear there was something horribly wrong.

With sinking hearts they followed the ambulance to Charing Cross Hospital, but were not allowed in. Just under an hour later they heard that Mr. Sixsmith had died, his death being described as down to, “a bizarre broadcasting accident” though what form of broadcasting accident could result in a man losing a leg and bleeding to death no-one was admitting. It was likely, as G said, that it had nothing to do with the Organisation and was the staff’s way of expressing dissatisfaction.

That left them with Herr Wittrock. As Z pointed out, eighteen secret service agents should be able to guard one diplomat. If they couldn’t, Major Eberbach might well fry them in their own oil, and they would probably deserve it.

On the other hand, Herr Wittrock was one of the more unpredictable diplomats working for the Federal Republic, and they were not his ‘official’ guards. They had to hang around, dressed as dustbin men, or cleansing operatives as the City of Westminster had helpfully renamed them, or officials from the Post Office. Every hour a new fancy dress. And they still couldn’t get close to Herr Wittrock, not to warn him and not to find out his plans.

Their only advantage was that L, M, N and O by now knew what Herr Wittrock’s movements were likely to be. So, when O said, “Where’s he going now?” all the agents pricked up their ears.

“What do you mean?” asked Z.

“It’s not time for him to leave, and he’s going somewhere rather fast.” O had already started the car, and they were accelerating away from Grosvenor Square, heading east after the burgundy Rolls.

He didn’t go far, which in the hectic London traffic was a relief to all of them. He

drove into the maze of streets and back alleys that make up Soho, and drove into a car park in Poland Street. It was evening, most people were leaving, and there were spaces free so they were able to follow him in. Once inside, things were more complicated, the underground car park was made up of several huge halls, some of them very large and some much smaller. It was difficult to stay close enough to see where Wittrock went, and yet not so close that he became suspicious. It was no surprise, then, that they lost him.

“He’s got to be in here somewhere,” O said, stating the blindingly obvious. No-one replied.

“Park here,” said Z, indicating an empty space, “and we’ll search on foot.” The second problem then arose, this car park happened to be a radio blackspot. Z split them into two teams, and directed O and M to search towards the entrance while he and L searched deeper into the maze.

With just the two of them it was nerve-racking work, they crept slowly and carefully between the parked vehicles looking for the distinctive Rolls Royce. The car park was quiet, too quiet. Then Z heard a door shut and the distinctive sound of a powerful and expensive engine starting. There was no movement, which was odd. They headed towards the sound, still remaining hidden. Then he saw it, the gleam of the bodywork in the dim light. Standing beside the vehicle were two men, one well-dressed in a grey suit with a light sheen and a bright tie, the kind of clothes favoured by accountants in large firms, the other in jeans and a rough denim jacket. They were watching the vehicle with surprising concentration, and with horror Z noticed a pipe leading from the exhaust to the window. Signalling to O to attack, he stepped forward, gun raised. “Stop right there!”

Of course they didn’t, the two men ran. Straight into the waiting arms of Z, and coming up behind him were O and M. O grabbed the shiny suited one in a rugby tackle, throwing him to the ground and rolling him in spilled oil. The other gave up even less easily, Z had to knock him out before he would stop struggling.

Without waiting for the fight to be over, M broke the window in the Rolls with a shot and opened the car door, pulling Herr Wittrock out and checking his vital signs. “Z!” he called, “Go to the entrance and call for backup!”

Agent A watched as the man who looked so much like Major Eberbach walked into the room. As was usual these days A felt the temperature drop and a shiver of fear run down his spine. The familiar stranger looked impassively first at his subordinates then at the prisoners. “At least this man also smokes,” A thought to himself. It was something to recognise. A drew in a deep breath as Eberbach’s vague and disconcerting attention finally settled on him.

The fear intensified as the Major briefly removed the cigarette from his mouth and spoke. “And have you got any information out of them yet?”

“Not yet but we are making progress and hope to get results soon.” A said.

“Soon is not soon enough, the organisation we are chasing will realise shortly that we have these men and change their plans. When that happens these men will be useless and all their information out of date.”

Eberbach walked past A. It was like being passed by a ghost. A shivered, but turned to watch Eberbach walk down the line of suspects. The men must have heard of the NATO operative and perhaps rumours of his recent change had also reached them. Whatever the case, it was certain that they could feel the tension that Eberbach generated. Nobody could ignore the atmosphere of danger and unpredictability that clung to the man like a lover.

‘My God,’ thought A as he saw the suspect’s reaction to the new visitor, ‘I’ve spent hours threatening and cajoling these men and got nothing. The Major walks in and they shuffle about nervously. Can’t blame them though. I’m supposed to be on the same side and he scares me. The man they’re protecting must be really frightening for them to hold out.’

Eberbach walked down the line once occasionally bestowing vague glances upon the people before him. At the end of the line he stood absorbed in smoking and watching a fly climb the wall. After a pause, filled with mounting tension and the sound of shuffling feet, Eberbach turned to face A. A relaxed slightly hoping that the Major was going to leave and allow him to continue the interrogation. But no, suddenly, moving too fast to be properly seen, Eberbach reached behind, pulled one suspect forward and threw him across the room to land near the table. Agents and suspects alike jumped, shocked by the violent action and the ease with which it was carried out.

Tapping ash from his cigarette, Eberbach sauntered towards the stunned man. Standing over him, Eberbach nonchalantly stubbed out his cigarette in the ash tray on the table and lit another. To A he appeared to be the only one completely uninterested in the unfolding events.

“I need information now. It’s no use to me later. I’d like you to give it to me.”

“I’m saying nothing,” the brash words were slightly undermined by a shaky voice.

Eberbach smiled, apparently pleased at the answer and bent down to pick the man up by the throat. Once the suspect’s feet no longer touched the ground Eberbach adjusted his grip to hold the bulging eyed man by one hand, casually he knocked ash from his cigarette into the ashtray with the other. The man gurgled.

“You’ll have to speak more clearly than that, was that still a no?” Eberbach’s voice was impassive, devoid of expression. The man continued to gurgle, began struggling and reached up to grasp the strangling arm, hoping to relive the pressure on his neck.

A started to protest, “Sir…” he choked out, but Eberbach looked vaguely at him obviously unable to comprehend any problem. A decided to trust his superior, although Eberbach was notorious for mistreating his suspects he had never before permanently harmed them. All the same, it was a frightening sight. A knew the Major was strong, but how could he hold a fully grown kicking man by the throat apparently without effort or interest? The man was landing blows on his tormentor, didn’t they hurt? How could he be quite so calm and callous? Eberbach changed hands to light another cigarette and A noticed that the struggles were getting weaker.

“I used to be repressed, you know,” Eberbach said to the purple faced man, conversationally, “but I’m not any more.”

Silence reigned in the room as everyone waited for Eberbach to lower the man. The struggles became weaker and weaker, the gurgling more desperate and pitiful. The victim clawed frantically at the iron arm that held him without result, his face contorted in panic and pain. Minutes passed, Eberbach again changed arms to light yet another cigarette. Finally, after a last desperate cry, all sound and movement ceased. The man hung limply in the Major’s grip. Nothing happened, the agents stared in disbelief at the tableau before them. A would never forget this moment, his nightmares would feature this new and terrible image. Eventually Eberbach stubbed out his cigarette and dropped the body, which landed in a heap. The Major looked down, quite detached from the situation and his agents reactions and vaguely regarded the dead man. It was clear that alive or dead this man had never mattered to him.

“Mr. A! Get me another suspect! This one’s broken.”

A was dumbstruck but eventually managed to respond, summoning a reserve of strength he didn’t know he had. He wanted to hit out at this impostor, a man who behaved in ways his Major would never have considered.

“That man’s not going to give us any information now,” said A.

Amazingly the outburst did not merit a rebuke. “He wasn’t going to give us any before; I don’t see the difference.”

“What do you propose to do with the body?”

“Nothing interesting, it’s not as if anyone’s going to miss him.” Eberbach stepped over the corpse and walked back towards the line, happy to fetch his next victim if they weren’t going to be delivered. A moved forward to intercept.

The suspects, however, didn’t wait for his intervention, a chorus of voices started up eager to avoid a similar slow death to the one they had just witnessed.

“I know what you want to know!”

“I have some very useful information!”

“I’ll tell you anything, anything!”

“Agent A, your suspects appear to have become more co-operative,” said Eberbach. He sounded disappointed. “Get the information and report back to me in my office. Oh, and take this to the morgue.” Indicating the body on the floor Eberbach left, lighting one more cigarette.

A’s professionalism took over. Despite his shock, he assigned C and D to get a trolley for the casualty and ordered Z to help take the statements.

Judith Robinson, head of MI5, was in her office reading up on an investigation in Kenya when the phone rang, it turned out to be an aide in one of the German offices.

“Mrs Robinson, sir, a Major Eberbach from NATO has contacted me with information that the mining conference in Bonn that we’re providing security for is going to be disrupted.”

“Disrupted? In what way.”

“I…he… didn’t give exact details, but a small group have been armed with the intention of targeting the event. I have the list of the weapons supplied to them here, I can fax it over.”

Judith Robinson considered the information. She’d heard of Major Eberbach, most people in intelligence circles had. Before she would have considered the information reliable, but recently there had been some very strange stories circulating about a disturbing change in the difficult Major’s behaviour. Still, it would be unwise to ignore the warning. If nothing happen she could merely have the Major’s skin for a new carpet.

“Very well. Get back in contact with Major Eberbach, thank him for the information, ask where he got it from, see if you can get more details and inform him that precautions will be taken.”

“I don’t have to meet him face to face again do I.” The aide in the other end of the phone said desperately.

“Not if you don’t think it’s necessary. Why, is there a problem?” Judith answered perplexed. She knew the aide and he didn’t get rattled easily.

“No, no problem. Just checking.” The aide replied quickly. “I’ll get right on it, sir.”

The aide rang off and Judith wrote an e-mail to ensure that security at the mining conference would be increased.

Eroica got out of the black limousine, and thanked what providence there might be that he was a Lord, that he was responsible enough to attend the House from time to time and that he had spoken on environmental matters more than once. It was a lot to be thankful for, without it he would not have been able to talk his way into replacing Lord McNaughton on the British delegation. And his known friendship with the dead Lord hadn’t gone amiss, either. If one or two of the other delegates were concerned at having such a…notorious…addition to the list, they were too well bred to show it.

If it hadn’t been for his beloved Major, there was no way Eroica would have volunteered for such a stultifying event as an Environmental Mining Conference in any case. He’d heard through the always reliable Bonham who had heard through his usually reliable friend A, that the Major was taking a special interest in this particular conference and that had been enough to have him here. It was all the more disappointing then to get there and find no sign of the Major, no sign of any of the alphabetical agents and the conference security being managed by the FBI and MI5. Eroica didn’t like MI5, they were sneaky, in his opinion, lying, and too often right. He was reasonably certain they had a file on him, but had never needed to know enough to make finding out for sure worth the risk.

By now he was well inside the conference building and well away from the cold outside. The first session of the day was about to start. Eroica didn’t need the simultaneous translation, he spoke German more than well enough to be able to follow the speech given by Manfred Schmidt on the iniquities of mining companies in Africa. There was a little discussion. Eroica found it difficult to disagree with Herr Schmidt, but he wasn’t convinced that any amount of European, American – or even NATO – wrist slapping would change the companies’ behaviour one bit. The conference would have been more interesting if there had been a real debate, a full blown sinus-clearing argument, but that was difficult.

Eroica sighed, and tried to look as if he was listening to the discussion and not looking for stray Majors hiding in the woodwork.

The representative for the environmentalist group FreeLand stood up to make their points, and Eroica’s attention picked up. This lot could usually be relied upon to start a debate.

On this occassion Eroica was due to get more excitement than he bargained for when suddenly shots ran out. Eroica was faster than the rest of the British delegation, he slid under the table and crawled along to the end in front of the French, Spanish and Portuguese positions. Above him, in the debating chamber he could hear confused shouts and the sound of disordered delegates. He had a momentary hope that the situation was being broadcast, but that was unfounded; he heard an editor cursing that the cameras had not been recording this session. The attackers suddenly became aware of the camera crew and while their attention was diverted Eroica managed to slip round the table and behind the Egyptian delegation who had been placed at the back of the hall.

The argument with the camera crew became louder, and the gunman guarding the door stepped forward to separate the parties, unnoticed behind him Eroica opened the door just a fraction and slid out.

He lay on the floor getting his breath back. He looked up to see an FBI man looking down at him, curiosity writ large on his face.

“Are you all right, sir?” asked the man.

“No, Agent…” Eroica, he read the badge, “…King. I’m not ‘all right’. A gang of armed men have taken over the conference.”

“Sir?”

“No, I am not joking. You better call your Commander.”


	14. Chapter 14

Judith Robinson got off the military plane at Bonn airport and was greeted by the local FBI and MI5 representatives. She was very displeased. Mistakes and the unexpected she could live with, they happened all the time and all that was required was a bit of intelligence to recover the situation, but incompetence! Incompetence was one of the few things that made Judith angry and this situation smacked of incompetence.

“So gentleman, I don’t suppose you’d care to explain that, even though we had advance warning that there might be trouble, these terrorists still managed to overtake the conference.”

“We weren’t expecting them to be delegates.”

“After 30 years in intelligence I’ve always thought the sign of a good operative is their ability to deal with the unexpected.” Judith said pointedly. “However I’m not interesting in apportioning blame, I’m here to resolve this mess. Now take me to your operational base and send for Major Eberbach.”

Judith endured the heated debate flying around the room between the agents of the various organisations who had been brought in to deal with this crisis. Despite the volume used to express the various ideas there had been no agreement about how to resolve the problem. Judith was hardly listening, she had decided the course of action and she doubted it involved anyone currently involved in the debate. Since she had received Major Eberbach’s warning she had taken an interest in the man, and had done some investigating; and although she didn’t like the sound of some of the methods the results appeared to be beyond reproach. Apparently Eberbach and his team were on a big case and were digging clues out of thin air. Eberbach seemed to be leaving a trail of scared but co-operative people. Whatever it was they were doing Judith felt this situation needed a dose of it.

Suddenly the angry voices had stopped and Judith felt the change in the atmosphere that had caused it. An atmosphere that emanated from the new arrival and seemed to cover him like a shroud.

Judith Robinson recovered quickly. She’d thought the reports had prepared her for him, but the reality was far worse. The lifelessness of the figure before her was bad enough that she momentarily considered rethinking her plan, but no, now was not the time to act like a scared child. “Major Eberbach, I’m glad you could come so quickly. As you must have realised your warnings have proved to be all too prophetic. I’ve been put in overall charge of this joint operation and I’ve decided to call you in as the clean up squad.”

For a moment there was no response

“Do you want the terrorists alive or dead?” Eberbach asked blandly.

“Preferably alive.”

“And the hostages?”

Judith paused, even she was taken aback by the disinterest with which Eberbach decided the fate of innocents. “All alive.”

“Very well, it’ll be done within the hour.” And without waiting to be dismissed Eberbach turned and headed for the door.

“Wait,” called one of the FBI men. Ford, Judith quickly reminded herself. “Don’t you need backup, what’s your plan….” Ford stopped. Eberbach had left with one of his agents trailing apologetically behind him.

Ford turned to Judith Robinson, he was annoyed. “Please tell me exactly why that man hasn’t been locked up somewhere? When I met him in Alaska he was difficult yes, truly unpleasant yes, but not this zombie.”

“Mr. Ford, Major Eberbach was the only one to foresee this mess. I know about the reports of unconventional methods but right now I’m only interested in results. And if Eberbach and his team are the only people who can get me the results I want then that’s who I’ll use. Believe me he will be constantly monitored. However, his record in NATO is exemplary and I won’t ignore that.”

No-one looked reassured. There had been rumours that much was being covered up, that the official report, bad as it was, was incomplete.

“The Major has an hour. After that I might reconsider our position.” Judith said.

“In an hour you could have a blood bath,” warned Ford.

“Then it shall be my responsibility. I suggest we meet up again in an hour.” Judith said and she prayed that she had made the right choice. The other agents unhappily left the room leaving Judith with time on her hands. With nothing else to do she finally read the demands that the terrorists had made.

Z could see all the gunmen through one of the spy holes that the FBI had put into the conference chamber. He carefully noted their number and positions. Slowly, carefully he returned to the main group to report. “We have a problem,” said Z. Eberbach turned to face him, B, D and G, also nearby, were looking pale.

Z went on, “The terrorists are using the hostages as shields. I can see places to get line of sight on most of them but there’s one that’s completely covered. We miss him and they’ll be a blood bath.” Z was worried, the Major was unlikely to be bothered by that little detail, so he used the only word that seemed to influence him anymore. “The hostages are mainly the delegates, if they’re killed we’ll fail in our mission.” Z looked at his boss and prayed that he’d reached the man that he believed was still in there.

Eberbach smiled. He did that a lot these days, and Z wished he wouldn’t; it always sent a shiver down his spine. It meant nothing, indicated no emotion, showed no inner workings of the mind, it was merely an alternative mask for the Major to wear. “Don’t be discouraged by a challenge Mr. Z. Perhaps we can persuade them to only kill a reasonable quota. Show me your vantage point.”

Z took the ghoul to see the situation. Before, all life had been equal and worthy of protection, now Eberbach seemed to struggle to pretend any of it was. Eberbach lay next to Z as they looked through the spy hole and relaxed. There they stayed, the Major appeared quite comfortable, as if lying on a beach, and showed no signs of either taking in the scene or making a plan. While the Major might be completely calm, Z found that being this close to his superior was painful. He felt cold and nervous. He wanted to escape, push past the man and run away to a safe distance but most of all Z wanted his old boss back. Eberbach finally appeared to notice his subordinate fidgeting and apparently having seen enough got up and led the way back to the rest of the team.

Then he gave them targets and positions to hit them from. Most were to use the extra vantage points created by the FBI and MI5 since the take-over but Z was to hide in the projection booth at the back. There was a hole in the screen he would have to fire through.

“That still leaves the hidden man.” D ventured. Before, questioning an order would have caused outrage but the new Eberbach seemed much more inclined to discuss his plans, ‘It’s just,’ Z thought, ‘that you feel you’d rather not know.’

“Yes. He’s mine, one of the perks of the job; I’ll try not to make it too messy.” That smile came again, “You have five minutes to get into position. Then wait for my signal. It’ll be obvious.”

The agents gave each other reassuring looks and set off for their assigned spots. Z realised that now Eberbach seemed to trust them more, or more accurately seemed to care less. Z got into position and nervously checked that the others were also ready to go. Z looked at his targets. This was not the position he would have chosen to hit them from, but you never disobeyed the Major, not before and definitely not now.

‘Now all I have to do is stay here until we get our signal, whatever it is, and avoid getting cramp.’

Five minutes passed then a little more, and just as Z was beginning to feel his muscles start to complain, the far door opened and Eberbach walked into the room, gun in hand but pointed at the floor.

“I hope you’ve come to tell us that our demands are being met. We’re trying to save the world here, we have no desire to cause anymore bloodshed.” The ringleader had walked forward to indicate the tablecloth covered body. He was Z’s first target and now he was ideally placed to hit him. ‘How could the Major have known?’ he wondered.

“I’m sorry to disappoint you but I’ve come to negotiate your surrender.” Eberbach smiled as the terrorists laughed. There was an undertone of nervousness, however, for despite themselves the gunmen had noticed something strange about the man, but Eberbach was too far away for them to realise what. The hostages, however, knew their saviour and Z felt for them, to have your life depend on the Major was something Z wouldn’t wish on anybody.

The ringleader raised his gun to point at Eberbach’s head, “You don’t seem to realise the gravity of your situation.” Eberbach gave the muzzle of the gun his glazed vague stare and his smile widened. Z realised it was up to him to save the Major’s life and for a moment he wondered if he should. High on adrenaline Z noticed Eberbach’s arm move a fraction of a second before the ringleader did and fired. Sure of his hit, he moved onto his second target. Other shots rang out, cries of pain and fear filled the room. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed a hostage fall, the hidden man! Had Eberbach missed? But the shooting stopped and Z pushed the screen out to jump down and join G at the Major’s side as he stood over the ringleader. Z’s shot had been good, the man was wounded not dead.

“Good shooting, we’ll want to question this one.” Z wished that Eberbach’s voice sounded less shallow. Z longed for compliments that, while rare, were at least genuine. “Keep him alive for now, G. Z! Check on the others.”

The freed hostages milled about, some remaining where they were, and others heading out of the room. The B and Z handcuffed the gunmen that were still alive and, having checked all the others, they headed for where the hidden man had been He had been surrounded by most of the hostages and many were still there. The gunman, however, lay dead, a bullet in his forehead. Next to the body D was tending to a bleeding hostage, one Herr Manfred Schmidt, with the help of his friend, and political opponent Herr Doktor Helmut Kalb.

“What happened?” Z still couldn’t figure out how Eberbach had hit his target. the dead man had been crouching and out of anyone’s line of sight.

“He shot me, he shot me,” the wounded man, Schmidt, was in shock. There was a bullet wound in his side, and he was staring towards the Major. Z looked towards D who’d been the closest to this group.

“It was incredible,” D said as he got up and let B take over the bandaging . “I just couldn’t see how he was going to make the shot.” D grasped Z by the elbow and moved a little away from the group. “The firing started and I saw the Major shoot. Herr Schmidt dropped and I thought, ‘My God, he’s really lost it, he’s killing the hostages’” D looked distraught. Z could sympathise, it showed how bad things really were that they could consider such things.

“So. What had happened?”

“It was the most incredible thing I’ve ever seen, he shot through Herr Schmidt to rebound on that fitting on the wall,” D indicated a light switch with a dent in it, “to hit the gunman in the forehead.” Z looked at the scene. Manfred Schmidt was overweight and a bullet could go through soft tissue. The rebound on the ornate light fitting had been necessary to get the angle on the gunman. It had been possible, but the chances of it working had been tiny. Z would never have thought of it, let alone carried it out.

“Whatever else there is about him, his aim’s improved.” D said darkly. “And it was good before.”

Eberbach had drifted over towards them. “Are all the other men dead?” he asked

“No sir. Most are still alive and have been restrained.” B piped up.

Manfred Schmidt could be silent no longer and shouted towards Eberbach. “You shot me! I’m bleeding.”

“It’s not serious, you’ll live.” Eberbach deigned to answer.

“You risked my life! Had you missed we’d all be dead!”

“But you’re not. What’s the problem? If you do want to be dead, then you can be. It’s no trouble. Easily arranged. Anything to please.” Eberbach’s gun was not pointing at the bleeding man but there was a general feeling that it could be.

Herr Schmidt decided to be conciliatory. “No, no that’s fine.”

Eberbach, seemingly bored with the conversation, turned round and wandered towards the door. He stopped when he saw new men run in and take charge of the gunmen. This pause allowed Herr Doktor Kalb to catch up with him.

“You couldn’t have known that shot was going to work, you could not have been sure. That man had an Uzi pointed at our backs. You took an unacceptable risk,” Kalb refused to be intimidated by Eberbach’s ghostly presence.

“There, there.” Eberbach said absently, “Nothing bad happened, don’t worry about it,” in a manner almost guaranteed to heighten tension rather than dissipate it. Then, ignoring the fuming man in front of him he called his agents to him as he continued his journey out the room.

“B! D! G! Z! Relief has arrived, we have other matters to attend to.”

Helmut Kalb made to follow, not satisfied with Eberbach lack of remorse but Z stopped him. “I really, really wouldn’t push it you know,” Z’s expression spoke louder than words and Kalb got the message.

“How do you cope?” Kalb asked. He really wanted to know, but Z shrugged, this was not a conversation he wanted to pursue.

“I need to go,” Z said and jogged to catch up with his retreating colleagues.

Their arrival back at NATO HQ should have been a jubilant one. It wasn’t. In their absence someone had stolen the papers from Davenant Hall. “It’s monstrous,” said the Chief, fluffing out his moustaches. “Paperwork not safe in our own HQ! Outrageous! All our security procedures will have to be reviewed! Eberbach! I’m putting you in charge of it.”

Judith Robinson looked at the senior agents in disgust. “I’m glad to see that this situation has been resolved so swiftly.” She was successfully hiding her heartfelt relief. Everyone had heard about Herr Schmidt and she’d realised how close to the edge her decision had been.

“Although I have to say I am disappointed that although I supposedly have some of the best trained men in the world at my disposal, I had to rely on a man who’s currently reputed not to be safe left in a room with sharp objects and shouldn’t be let out without a keeper! Now I hear his team is fast heading towards burn out. Perhaps I should ask NATO to get Major Eberbach to run some training courses. Training courses with compulsory attendance.”

The agents paled, everyone had done their best to avoid the altered Eberbach, but the inevitable few moments in his company had been more than enough. Mrs. Robinson dismissed them and wondered if that threat alone was punishment enough for the incompetence over this incident. She shivered, yes, the threat alone of being forced to work with Eberbach was sufficient. It was a shame that she wouldn’t be able to use that threat again. No way was ‘Iron Klaus’ going to remain at liberty for much longer, a man who’d always sailed very close to the boundaries seemed to be running full tilt at the edge and it wouldn’t be long before he made some very messy mistakes. No, she didn’t fancy Major Eberbach’s future at all.

Eroica walked into the open office Eberbach shared with his subordinates. A quietness descended. Summoning up his strength he walked airily to his ex-lover’s desk. Eberbach had been reading reports, cigarette in hand, and his glazed stare wandered up towards where Eroica stood. He barely noticed what he saw there, but he did bother to speak.

“I assume you’re here for a good reason?” Eberbach’s voice was as cold as usual.

Eroica was horrified, in this cold man he saw nothing of the fiery creature he’d fallen in love with. Eberbach was still beautiful but it was beauty marred by the fact that he was dead, everything that made him his Klaus was gone and only a shell remained. His Major, his Klaus, had been a work of art, steel framed, unbearable at times, but passionate. This was not the man he had known, the sad eyes that had drawn Eroica in were gone. Eroica hadn’t realised until now exactly what it was that he’d done. He’d killed Klaus. Killed him with his selfishness and his stupidity. He wanted to leave but he’d come to achieve something and he was determined that he would.

“The best. You won’t listen to what I say I need another way to get through to you, to let you know how sorry I am.” Eroica noted he was having no effect on the iceberg in front of him. ‘I could as easily prevent the next ice age by sucking hot mints as get him to listen. However I hope I have a secret weapon that will melt his barriers.’

Desperate for some reaction, Eroica took out the crucifix.

Eroica hesitated, ‘He may scoff, but I believe the legend. Am I ready for this?’

Eroica stood at the edge of an abyss and finally committed himself to one person. Whether his chosen partner would ever respond to his affections again was a side issue. It was his choice, his commitment, and at last he would be true. The decision was made. Eroica placed the crucifix on Eberbach’s desk and, getting no response, left.

Z walked into the office as Eroica was leaving. He was glad to see the Earl but all Eroica did was smile unevenly and sweep down the corridor.

Z continued his way into the communal office and walked up to Eberbach’s desk. “Major, forensics have a lead on what the remaining item is.” he started but Eberbach wasn’t listening, instead he was staring at something on his desk. It was a crucifix Z was sure he’d never seen before. “Sir?” Z tried again with as little response. Eberbach looked up and for a moment Z saw a person behind those dead eyes. Without warning, Eberbach got up and left the room. Z started to ask where he was going, just so he could be contacted with the new information but Eberbach was already gone.


	15. Chapter 15

A rushed into the office waving a file. He was feeling happier than he had done for some time, hopefully it would last long enough to get him through a conversation with Eberbach.

“We’ve got it! It’s a device to alter the chemical composition of metals!”

Such an outburst once would have earned a sharp rebuke, but now, when tension was so much higher, rules of discipline were more lax.. But Eberbach wasn’t there, Z and G looked up at his entrance.

“Where’s the Major gone? He’ll want to be informed immediately.”

Z shrugged and stood up, “He left about an two hours ago. He won’t have left the building,” he rarely did these days unless it was related to the mission. “We’d better find him.”

A led the way, no one suggested where to try first. It seemed so obvious. Eberbach may have become a different person, but that person pursued fitness with the same zeal. The gym was about the only place, apart from the office, that Eberbach spent any time. A swiped his security card through the lock on the gym and entered. It appeared empty, which wasn’t surprising considering it was 1:00am, but there was the sound of showering from the changing rooms. A, Z and G exchanged glances, no one wanted to disturb Eberbach while he was in the shower but a delay in passing on this information could have worse consequences.

A pulled back his shoulders, stiffened his resolve and as the superior subordinate he advanced to the door of the changing room. “Major, we know what the remaining item is.”

The noise of the shower continued unabated, A listened. ‘Why does that shower sound odd,’ he thought.

“Major? Are you there?” A glanced nervously at the others. They were going to have to go in and check. Someone could have left a shower on and they were wasting time when they should be looking for Eberbach. It was just that Eberbach had never taken kindly to personal contact and A felt that surprising him in the shower could shorten his life expectancy. A swallowed and entered, Z patted him reassuringly on the shoulder and followed in behind him.

Initially the changing room appeared as empty as the gym. “Is anyone there?” A ventured. This was ridiculous; he was scared of an empty room. There was nothing to be alarmed about, so why were three experienced agents behaving so cautiously? It just felt so wrong, the running water seemed to be creating an eerie atmosphere.

“What’s wrong with that shower? It doesn’t sound as if it’s working properly,” said G from behind Z.. He voiced their general concern.

Tempted to hold hands for comfort the three agents edged their way towards the shower cubicle that was the source of the disconcerting sounds. As they got closer the reason for their unease became clearer. Underneath the noise of the running water was a pitiful keening, the sound an animal makes when it’s truly, utterly desperate. It was a sound that travelled straight to the base of the spine and activated a primeval sense of fear.

A held himself firm. He would not run, he had the courage to investigate the cause of the sound. He was an agent of NATO, he had survived many terrifying things, he could deal with this. They were in a gym in NATO’s intelligence headquarters, nothing dangerous could happen here. Honestly. A gathered his nerve.

“Major?” A asked one last time, then pushed open the shower cubicle door and instantly staggered back into Z, too choked to cry out. Z instinctively caught him and stopped him falling to the floor. A clung to the other agent. He could feel Z’s fingers digging into his arms and concentrated on that, anything to take his mind off what was before him. His imagination had been unable to summon up anything as terrible as the reality. A was vaguely aware of Z’s horrified expression, and he could feel G shaking behind him. The shower cubicle door swung back, and stopped half open. The three agents hung on to each other desperate for solace as the world creaked around them and water swirled at their feet. A moment passed then another, together they formed a still life, etched in flesh. Nothing changed. The shower ran, the keening never faltered, the agents barely breathed.

G recovered first, “I’ll get a towel,” he said, and reluctantly let go of the others to look for it. A and Z exchanged glances and together moved forward into the cubicle. A was closest to the control and reached over to shut off the water. Ice cold water penetrated his suit, his arm was soaked. Z and G, now armed with a large towel, knelt in the diminishing pink puddle of water to drape it on the curled figure. With the sound of running water gone the keening scraped more effectively at the agents’ nerves. Z remained kneeling and considered if it was wise to try and take the knife.

Then, when they didn’t believe it could get worse, it did. The gym door opened and they heard several voices. Some late night denizens of NATO headquarters had come to take advantage of the facilities.

“Quick, G!” said A as he ran towards the voices. “Page the other agents, get them down here now and block off the gym. I’ll get rid of who ever this is.”

G followed A out of the changing room and ran straight to the phone near the door to dial the emergency page for his fellow subordinates.

“I’m sorry,” said A as he ran up to the three new arrivals. Unfortunately he recognised one of them as Major Schönberg, someone not who would take kindly to being denied access. “The gym is closed at the moment, we need it as part of our investigation. Please come back in about an hour.” A tried to sound convincing though lying had never been his strong point. In the background G was talking into the phone. Z must have turned the shower back on as the only sound coming from the changing room was that of running water.

Major Schönberg puffed, “And what vital investigation takes place in a gym?”

“I’m sorry I’m not at liberty to discuss that. Major Eberbach’s orders.” A noticed Schönberg flinch at Eberbach’s name. He thought,‘If your boss is the current bogeyman you might as well take advantage of it.’

“The Major is due here any minute, you can discuss it with him then.” A sounded as conciliatory as possible, but the three men had blanched. Eberbach’s current reputation caused sane people to go to great lengths to avoid him.

“No, no that’s all right. We’ll just get out of your way. Quickly.” And they left desperate to be away before Eberbach showed up. A watched them go. Never before had he thought that Eberbach’s current state could be an advantage. Just Eberbach’s name had caused such a reaction. ‘How would they react,’ A wondered , ‘if they could see the Major now. Curled up, sobbing, at the bottom of a NATO shower.’ A shivered, that would have been bad enough, that alone would have made the world tilt on it’s axis but it was still worse. The scene he had uncovered when he had pushed open the door was burned in his mind.

The helpless keening had been bad enough. Seeing the Major curled up in foetal position was worse, but the thing that made it unbearable was the injuries. Cuts, cigarette burns and bruises, all over his arms, legs and side, contrasting against the perfect skin. Injuries that, A knew, had not been acquired in the line of duty. Injuries some of which had bled as they watched, colouring first the water and then the towel. Injuries that would, no doubt, match the knife the Major had been holding in a death like grip. A could see it all so clearly, the way the freezing water had bounced from the walls, onto the still body then into the drain. He remembered watching the whirlpool of pink water twirling its way down the plughole. A was about to lose his mind to the recollections when T, H, V, and D arrived.

“Guard this door, make sure no one enters. Tell them it’s vital to our investigations.”

“What’s happening” H asked, bemused.

“It’s best you don’t know.” ‘Oh God how I wish I didn’t,’ thought A.

Feeling completely unequal to the task, A returned to the changing room. Z had turned on the hot water in showers in several of the other cubicles, which helped to dispel the morgue-like atmosphere. A crouched beside Z and watched him talk to their superior. Eberbach had stopped sobbing but there was no other reaction to their presence.

Z looked to A who tried. “Sir, we know what the device you stole does. It’s going to help us solve the mission, but we need your help.”

“Mission?” Eberbach said weakly not looking up. A sighed with relief. The magic word ‘mission’ had come through for them.

“Yes sir, we need you to come with us. We need you to finish the mission.” A said, aware how weak that sounded.

Eberbach looked up slowly. His three subordinates winced at the expression in his eyes. They were not quite the glazed opaque mirrors they had been, but neither were they the sad eyes of before. All was not well, but at least a human being looked back at them now. Eberbach seemed confused.

“Why am I here?”

A prayed he had no memory of them finding him. “You must have slipped while drying yourself after a shower sir. We came to find you with this new information. We know what the device does.” Z looked all innocence and honesty.

“Give me a moment, I’ll join you as soon as I’m dressed,” Eberbach sounded shaky, but at least he was coherent.

The three agents virtually bolted from the changing room. Once in the gym A dismissed H, V, T, and D, ordering them to gather the other agents and prepare for a trip to London.

That done, they tried to wait patiently for Eberbach to emerge, but no amount of whistling or inspecting the equipment made the time go faster. Eventually Eberbach appeared. He looked composed but still slightly bemused. A tried to figure if this was the new Eberbach or the old Major. When Eberbach spoke A realised the man was somewhere in between. The realisation washed over him that if anyone suspected how deeply disturbed the Major was, they wouldn’t wait for a rogue agent team, they wouldn’t go through the dismissal procedures, he would simply be sent to the nearest madhouse.

“Enough time has been wasted. We need to find out why this item was so important and finish this mission.”

“Yes sir, we need you to come with us. We need you to finish the mission.” A was still struggling with the realisation that if he wasn’t very careful the Major faced an ignominious end to his career.

The three agents smiled at each other in relief, and followed the stomping Major down the corridor. A went last, hoping that the shaking caused by the mixture of fear and delayed shock wasn’t visible to anyone else.

Eroica was supposed to return to England with the rest of the Mining Conference delegation, but he invented an important and personal appointment with his German lawyers to allow him to stay a day or two at least. They seemed to accept his excuse, probably assuming he was trying to avoid the MI5 debriefing.

He knew, from A via Bonham, that the Major was working on something big and that A was unhappy with the situation, and having seen the Major for himself he wasn’t surprised, he wouldn’t have been happy in A’s situation either. What he didn’t know was how the case had progressed since the Major’s time in London. All Bonham’s blandishments in A’s direction had failed, and Eroica felt that he needed to know. What he didn’t know was how he was going to find out.

He turned plan after plan over in his mind, none appealed. He needed some reason to go to the area where the Major worked, surely open files would be there if anywhere. And he’d got into offices before: he decided to fall back on an old trick of his, the photocopier engineer.

Accordingly, at 4:40 in the afternoon he drew up in a van clearly labelled with the name of an international firm who leased copiers to large corporations, and took the bag of equipment from the back. He’d never had a problem getting into buildings in this disguise, and the trick worked again as he was issued with a perfectly valid visitor’s pass by the receptionist.

He knew the way to the Major’s office, indeed he’d been shown there last time, when he came to deliver the Crucifix.

The agents hardly even looked up when he went into the office, K looked at his pass, waved him to the copiers on the far wall and left him to it. Nobody even offered him a coffee so he didn’t have to be concerned about the spirit gum of his beard coming unstuck or the dye on his skin washing off. The turban was heavy, but he didn’t mind that.

Head in the copier, he could hear the agents talking over and around him almost as if he were invisible and deaf. Probably they assumed that snatches of conversation wouldn’t mean too much to a Sikh visitor. On the contrary it was all most enlightening. The name of a club in London, called the Convocation Club seemed to feature regularly.

It seemed that the Major was on the trail of a particularly ruthless gang of criminals, blackmailers and murderers, but that the purpose behind their actions remained a mystery. He remembered the documents and the box he and the Major had stolen from Davenant Hall. It seemed like so long ago, but was barely three weeks. Those documents must be connected with this somehow, and he longed for a closer look. He closed the copier he was working on and straightened up. There was a poor print of a Matisse on the wall, and in the reflection on the glass Eroica saw the Major’s Chief wandering along the corridor.

Eroica asked K about the toilets, and went out hurrying a little like a man in need. He made his way to the Chief’s office hoping he hadn’t been seen, and looked round. He’d have to be quick, he could feel that familiar crawling in his stomach composed of fear and excitement, almost like wanting to move his bowels. There were some keys on the desk…a chance too good to pass up. He took them.

The vaults were harder to find, and his cover as a lost photocopier engineer more unbelievable by the minute, but he persevered. In this he was helped by the comparatively late hour, most office staff, even in Germany, tried to be off the premises by 5pm. He also thanked whatever Providence was watching over him for the keys…until he actually found the vault and discovered they wouldn’t get him inside. ‘Damn!’ he thought, briefly.

He had to fall back on his tried and trusted skills as a thief. The extra-large photocopier engineers briefcase had some secrets that most photocopier engineers would find astonishing, including a full set of standard and electronic lock picks. Briefly he wished for Bonham’s trusted assistance before he went to work.

It took him some time to break into the vault, NATO were not stupid. And when he did he wasn’t sure it had been a good idea, the place was packed with things the purpose of which he could only guess at. He walked along the shelves slowly, looking for the Major’s name. He found nothing.

At the back of the vault though was a row of card index cabinets, and hopefully he had a look through them. Now he was in here he had all night. Under the name von Eberbach was a list of cases, the most recent being Hövermann. He looked up Hövermann and there was a note of the shelf number and container number relating to the case. With only minor difficulty he found the container, a large document archive box, and pulled it down. Inside he found a set of documents and the box he remembered having taken from Davenant Hall.

There was no copier in the vault, and Eroica cursed NATO soundly. He couldn’t risk taking them out, but a quick check through the file showed that he didn’t need to, someone in their haste had copied them and there were duplicates of most. He took the duplicates out quickly and stuffed them into his case.

The object in the box defied his imagination, and there were no photographs. And he didn’t have his camera with him. He sighed. The box wasn’t too big, but it wouldn’t fit into the case. He decided to take it anyway. He looked at his watch, it was after 8:00, he’d been in NATO over 4 hours.

Getting out was more difficult than getting in, he kept being held up by the slow walk of guards down the deserted corridors, but he made it in the end.

On the street outside Bonham was waiting for him. “What took you?” asked Bonham.

“I found…something,” said Eroica.

“What?”

“I don’t know, I’m hoping that you can tell me. But just now all I want is a bath and a drink.”

“I thought you were beginning to run,” said Bonham.

“And to get rid of this bloody thing,” said Eroica, lifting the turban off.

Largely silent, Eroica returned to London. He’d made his point and found the information and now didn’t quite know what to do. Having seen his beloved Major for himself, he wasn’t foolish enough to expect him to get in touch, that would be stupid in the extreme, but he desperately wanted something to do, anything that would keep his mind off the beautiful dead face of his lover. He needed to create a reason for Eberbach to contact him, and the best way to do that was to interfere with the Major’s mission.

He had something the Organisation wanted. Now all he needed to do was contact them and find out who they were. However, contacting someone when you didn’t know who they were was difficult. The only lead he had was the club mentioned by Eberbach’s men.

The Convocation club was not to Eroica’s taste but he endured it anyway. It wasn’t until the end of a second dull evening there that he was approached by a familiar figure, he’d last seen Peter Leroy working for Gian-Maria Borobollonte, the Italian Mafia boss.

“Why hello Peter, please join me for a drink. Do you come here often?” Eroica asked lightly.

“Regularly, I own the joint,” said Leroy, cheerfully. “I hadn’t noticed you come here before.”

“This is only my second time. I just dropped in.” Here was his chance. “I’m hoping to meet some regulars. I’ve acquired something that they would be very interested in,” said Dorian, without a blush. “But I haven’t seen them. Could I leave a message with you for them?”

“Sure, anything for a friend of Gian-Maria Borobollonte,” said Leroy. “Who are they?”

“Please Peter, no names. They’re very nice people who were after a certain item from Davenant Hall, which was briefly looked after by NATO and is now held by me.”

“Okay, I’ll do what I can.” Peter Leroy didn’t sound sure, but that was part of the game. “How can they get in touch with you?”

“Oh, give them this number.” Dorian scrawled his mobile number on one of the silly little doilies that the club gave out instead of coasters.

“I’ll do that.”

After that, Eroica didn’t stay long. He had the curious excited feeling that a connection had been made, that something was going to happen.

It didn’t take long, less than twelve hours later, the mobile phone rang. Eroica answered it with a wary, “Yes?”

A smooth and polished American voice said, “You know a Peter Leroy?”

“Yes,” said Eroica.

“He tells us you have something that belongs to us. Is that so?”

“I believe so. I borrowed it from our mutual friend Mr. Cairns, and have not yet had chance to return it.”

“And do you know what it is?”

“I’m afraid not,” Dorian said, “but I know he valued it highly.”

“Perhaps we can arrange something…mutually advantageous…for its safe return,” the American sounded smoother than ever.

“Perhaps.” Dorian thought it over for a moment. “Where can we meet to discuss it?”

“You know the Convocation Club”

“Of course.”

“We can meet there. Come alone.”

“Very well. When?”

“Eight tonight.” With that, the mysterious American rang off.

Eroica wasn’t completely stupid, he knew that going to meet strangers was risky at best, and the expression on Bonham’s face didn’t do anything for his confidence. He didn’t need to say anything, Eroica said it for him, “You think this is silly, don’t you?”

“You asked,” said Bonham. “Yes I do.”

Eroica sulked for the rest of the day.


	16. Chapter 16

The Convocation club was hot, noisy and smoky, not that Eroica cared all that much. A table had been booked for him under his real name, which was slightly unnerving, and he sat under the gaudy chandelier waiting as patiently as he could adding to the smoke with his own cigarettes. After some forty minutes, a man detached himself from the crowd and sat down. Eroica recognised him, vaguely, but couldn’t quite place him. He just knew he’d met this man before somewhere. The cold and clammy handshake accentuated the feeling, but no name came to mind.

“I’m glad you made it,” said the man in his American – Midwestern, Eroica thought – accent.

“I’ve been waiting,” replied Eroica, a little tightly, “for some time.”

“Ah, yes. But with the circles you move in, we had to be quite sure you weren’t being followed.”

“And are you sure?”

“Yes. Yes, indeed we are,” said the man. “Now,” he added, with a hint of menace.

“I see,” said Eroica.

“If you will come with me,” said the man, standing smoothly.

It wouldn’t have been obvious to anyone even a few feet away, but Eroica could see the outline of a gun in the man’s suit pocket. Now was clearly not the time to put up a struggle, he stood and allowed himself to be directed out of the club onto the street. A dark car waited by the kerb, and he was motioned inside. He’d kept an eye open for Bonham, Jones or any of this support team, but worryingly he hadn’t seen any of them. As soon as he was inside the car, it moved off; Eroica looked round but didn’t see anyone. Bonham had been right, this was a really stupid idea.

The windows of the car were darkened, so despite Eroica’s encyclopaedic knowledge of London he had no idea where he was being taken. They drove for hours, stopping and starting, waiting and then moving on, even travelling along something which he would have sworn was motorway, pity there was no way of telling which one.

At last they stopped and he was pulled out of the car quite roughly. It was dark, the sort of dark not normally encountered in London, and Eroica wondered just where he had been taken. He was momentarily aware of the rustle of trees before he was manhandled through a door into a darkened building.

From there, things went from bad to worse. He was tied to a chair, quickly and efficiently. The response to his tentative testing of his bonds was open laughter. “What are you doing? Looking for your passport?”

Eroica struggled still harder, but he couldn’t free himself. In the end he was freed, but once again there was a gun at his neck. “Now, walk,” said the American voice. Eroica walked.

Once on board the plane, he was tied up again and then things were calmer though no less frightening. The plane was not large, and the time passing gave Eroica time to wonder where they were going. Towards dawn the plane landed, clearly a private airstrip, and the plane made a rather rocky landing. He was untied again, and stretched his arms out, looking at the muzzle of the sub-machine gun which was trained on him. He wondered, not for the first time, at the attraction Klaus found in such things. He felt dirty, rumpled and sweaty, and he tried to straighten his clothes, the goons watching him.

“What’s this?” one of them asked, taking his stick pin out of his lapel. “Is it worth anything?”

“Only to me,” said Eroica, lightly. Actually it was a transceiver, a tracking device. Luckily at that moment the goon was distracted by the American, who wanted someone to carry his briefcase.

They turned, Eroica in the lead with one of the submachine guns in the small of his back, and made their way to a Land Rover waiting on the strip.

The Land Rover took them to a secluded beach. Eroica looked round, hoping for help or at least witnesses. One of the goons cuffed him, and resignedly he climbed into a boat. He was helped down the ladder into the cabin and his legs were retied. His arms were agony, the restricted position hurt more than he would have believed possible and he fought off hopelessness.

Dawn rose finally as they arrived at a large villa. Eroica was helped out of the boat and walked up a long drive to a large house.

“Welcome to my house, Lord Gloria,” said the smooth American.

“I’m charmed,” said Eroica, through gritted teeth.

He was led to a room in the cellars, and once again his legs were fastened to the legs of a chair. He desperately wanted to go to the toilet, but was not about to tell them that.

The American smiled at him, almost as if he was a willing guest. “Now, where is the device?”

“I don’t have it.”

“Not on you. It’s a bit big to stuff up your ass. But you do have it. Now, where?”

“I was lying. NATO has it.”

That was a mistake, the American signalled to one of his goons, and Eroica had a small horrible glimpse of his rotten and distorted teeth before the man’s fist connected with his chin. The pain was astonishing, he just hadn’t been expecting it to hurt so much. He groaned, and the goons laughed.

“Lord Gloria,” said the American, “you can make this stop.”

“No,” said Eroica, softly. He repeated, “I don’t have it, I was lying.”

“Hoping to rip me off?”

“Yes.”

“Like your friend McNaughton.”

Light dawned, that was where Eroica had seen this man before, at that party when he’d stolen the van Gogh. “You’re Rankin,” gasped Eroica. “I remember you.”

“Well done.”

Too late Eroica realised the mistake he’d made. There was no way that Rankin would let him go, not now he’d admitted he could put a name to the face of his kidnapper. He could well have just signed his own death warrant.

Once again he saw the face of the goon, and a fist connected with his side. He gasped for breath, helpless under the onslaught. The pain was indescribable, and for a moment he passed out under it. He woke wet, someone had emptied a pail of water over him. At least, he hoped it was water, he didn’t want to consider the other possibilities.

“You have it,” came Rankin’s persuasive voice, the voice of a hypnotist or a sincere-sounding TV evangelist just before the request for money. “You will give it to me.”

“No, no,” which was as much as Eroica could say. He wasn’t even sure what he was denying.

“Again,” instructed Rankin.

Once more a blow came. Eroica groaned, helplessly: it was all he could do.

“You will give it to me.”

“I don’t…have it. I was lying.”

“I don’t believe you.” Rankin sounded calm and sure.

“Believe what you like.” It didn’t matter what he said, he had no escape plans. No one knew where he was. His plan had failed, instead of wining the Major back he was going to get himself killed.

“Sir?” said A.

“What is it?” asked Eberbach.

“You remember you left a monitoring and tracking bug in the device?”

“Of course.”

“It seems that Eroica stole it,” A sounded nervous.

“Yes.”

“Sir, listen to this…” A switched on a tape recorder.

They heard Bonham say, “What do you mean? Where’s Eroica.”

“He….he’s been kidnapped,” came Jones’ quieter tones.

Immediately there was an outcry. “Kidnapped!” “How?” “Who?” Complete pandemonium for some minutes until Bonham, dependable Bonham, called for silence.

“What are we going to do?” asked one of the others, the voice was unrecognisable.

“Find him,” said Bonham. “What else?”

“But how? And what was he doing in that place anyway?”

“He went to do something for the Major.”

“The Major?” the unknown one sounded outraged. “Why should he want to help that bastard?”

“Guilt,” said Bonham after a silence. “Well, he did treat him very badly.”

“No more than he deserved.”

“No!” Bonham sounded as angry. “No-one deserved that! I know you lot think the sun shines out of my Lord Gloria’s arse, but it ain’t so. And even he realises it now.”

“What do you mean?”

“Look, wanker,” Bonham took a deep breath, “if he’s surrounded by people who tell him everything he does is just fine by them, he starts to believe it. Who wouldn’t? Then he meets someone like the Major, and he’s got a big shock. I think he imagined that once he and the Major were together then the militaristic machine would start to think like you lot. He didn’t, and good for him is what I say.”

“Bonham!”

“I mean it.” There was a pause, then Bonham said, “Now we have to think of a way of getting him out of whatever fucking mess he’s got himself into.”

Eberbach switched off the tape. He sat down, slowly. He could see that A looked worried. “Sir,” said A, nervously. “It seems that Eroica’s team were tracking him. They traced him to a deserted airstrip in Italy but lost him there.”

“I see,” said Eberbach, but he wasn’t really listening. Suddenly he could feel again. He wasn’t sure he wanted to, feelings meant more pain. Already he hurt. Dorian was in danger, a danger he couldn’t imagine, these peoples’ résumé’s read like those of demons. He had to do something.

“Where are they going?” he asked A.

“We aren’t sure, yet, sir. But they’re heading for Southern Europe.”

“Italy?” he suggested.

“Could be, sir.”

“Let’s make that assumption. Get the team together, we’ll follow them.” He suppressed the thought that he and Eroica and Italy already had a history.

Eroica slumped in his chair and prepared himself to roll with the blows he knew where about to come. The wait stretched into minutes and he looked up to check that his tormentors had not left him alone. Unfortunately they were still there, waiting patiently. Rankin, in fact, looked quite thoughtful.

“Lord Gloria, I see that you are no stranger to this type of persuasion and I feel I should not waste your time with more of it. I know you are an art lover so I feel it is only right I introduce to a true artist.”

Rankin gestured and one of the ugly goons opened a door and allowed a new man into the room. He was a fine featured and, in very different circumstances, Eroica would have found exceedingly attractive. He exuded that same aura of power that Eroica loved in the Major. The man smiled at Rankin like a small child delighted with the present of a new toy. Rankin nodded and the newcomer turned his attention to Eroica.

“Hello Lord Gloria.” The man said nastily. “As we are going to get to know each other well I feel I ought to introduce myself. I am Steve Joseph. I don’t have my portfolio with me at the moment but I hope you saw ‘Cairns’. Now that was one of my finest pieces, I think I was going through my red period at the time. You, I think, shall be called ‘Confession’. Yes, I think that will fit quite nicely, it has that religious overtone which always adds depth to a piece.”

Steve Joseph had leaned closely towards Eroica allowing the bound man to see clearly into his eyes. Eroica looked and saw sanity reflected back. Eroica had seen the pictures of what had been left of Cairns and had no doubt about his fate. Under this man’s skilful ministrations Eroica wasn’t even going to be able to leave a trail of lies that would expose them to the Major. His death would be meaningless and that hurt more than any torture.

Eberbach stared at the tracker in his hands as if would help him with all his problems; but stubborn as only electronics can be, it continued to display only the location of the missing documents. Resisting the temptation to smash the device the Major lifted his binoculars to stare at the island this infuriating device pointed to. If the Organisation had kept the documents with them then this was their base and where better to have it than on one of the Venetian islands. Close to communications and facilities but actually fairly inaccessible. An island like this was easy to guard and, if attacked, to escape from. For this operation to have a chance at success they would have to take the island by surprise.

Then the Major turned and looked at the men he was supposed to do this with. His own useless subordinates and a motley crew of undisciplined thieves. His suspicions prevented him from calling on NATO backup and without it his mission was bound to fail. Deep inside, Klaus almost wanted it to. If it did then Eroica was sure to be killed and he would never have to deal with the irritating thief again. Klaus felt that he had just awakened from a deep sleep, which still beckoned at the edges of his awareness, and just thinking about the thief threatened to send him back into that blissful oblivion. Suddenly the Major stood tall. He was Klaus von Eberbach and he ran away from nothing and he never failed in a mission. There was no future he could not face. He would take that island armed only with a spoon, aided by imbeciles to save the devil himself if he were ordered to. Strengthened by his new resolve, the Major started to plan.

A stood with the rest of the advance party and awaited the final briefing. His team was equipped with SCUBA gear that Bonham had stolen from somewhere. A wasn’t sure what had amazed him more, Bonham’s unfailing ability to steal to demand or the Major’s sudden willingness to exploit it. Although the Major had always been prepared to do whatever was necessary to finish a mission he’d always preferred to use NATO resources. This time, however, instead of calling up the local NATO office and demanding equipment the Major had sent Bonham to acquire boats and diving gear and assigned many of Eroica’s men to the advance group as well. A didn’t think he’d ever be able to predict the Major’s actions. He sighed and paid attention to the briefing.

“Team A of the advance group,” the Major began, holding the map that the lone reconnaissance diver had made, “will have 7 minutes to eliminate the sentries on the east side before the boat teams arrive. Team B is to head straight for the boat house and prevent anyone leaving from there. Team C’s aim is to apprehend all inside and prevent loss of life of any hostages. This team must get as far into the complex as possible before the target realises they are under attack and raises the alarm. Radio silence will be observed until that point. Immediately we are discovered a call will go to NATO for immediate military and medical support. If we are not discovered that call shall go out 20 minutes after the start of the operation anyway. The boats teams are to secure the complex room by room and act as backup for team C. Our aim is to capture -alive- as many people as possible. Only kill if there is no other option.”

A watched the Major turn towards Eroica’s men and stare at them disparagingly. “I expect you to obey these orders to the letter. I shall deal, very firmly, with any ‘improvisation’. If you cannot operate under this condition you are welcome to remain behind.”

The Major’s steely glare travelled along the line of thieves but no-one flinched or left. “You, “ the Major continued as he intensified his stare, “have long boasted of your ability to break into buildings without being noticed. Now is your chance to put this skill to an honest use. The advance group starts out in 10 minutes. Be ready.”

With those morale-boosting words A watched the Major turn his back and check his air tank.

Steve Joseph looked at the beautiful man in the chair. The cuts and bruises already inflicted only served to make him more attractive. This job, Steve decided, would be special. He took a great deal of pride in his work and he always got results. Even when he was young he had always known when someone was lying. However, he hadn’t foreseen how lucrative that skill would turn out to be when combined with a talent for causing pain. Now he must be in the top 1% for job satisfaction. Yes, this one was going to be good, but the chair was all wrong. It would constrict his work too much. In the basement there was a beam set in the ceiling that would be just perfect.

Bonham slid into the water behind the Major and shuddered as cold water enveloped him. ‘I’m getting too old for this,’ he told himself. Next time they could get someone younger for this part of the job. ‘I just hope there will be a next time. Please if there is a God look after that stupid Earl and let us get to him in time.’

Putting thoughts aside Bonham then struck out trying to catch up with the receding Major and the rest of team C. Unfortunately he’d always hated swimming and he fell further behind. Then the others dived as they neared the pool of light around the island and Bonham had no idea where they had gone. Desperate, but careful to remain outside the illuminated area he trod water and tried to decide how to proceed. To be left behind so early was heartbreaking, how was he going to be of any help to the Earl if he couldn’t even get on the island? How could the Major leave him behind? Who else could check for traps as well as he could?

Just as he was about to continue anyway his leg was grabbed from below and he was pulled under the water. The regulator in his mouth muffled his scream and he fought uselessly against his assailant until, illuminated by a powerful searchlight passing over them, he recognised the Major’s scowl. Embarrassed he meekly took the rope extended to him and found himself half pulled the remaining distance to the island.

The Major led them to the shallows underneath some overhanging trees. Quietly passing his air tank to Bonham he headed into the trees in the direction of the guard Bonham could now see pacing on the shore.

‘They’re overconfident’, Bonham thought. Sure they had lights and guards, but where were the underwater detectors? Where was the barbered wire? Why had they let the trees form the shadows that they now hid in? These people might be intelligent but they didn’t think this place was a target.

Bonham watched the shadow that was the Major creep up on the doomed guard. Suddenly the shadow leapt, there was a flash of light reflecting against metal and the guard dropped. A second flash signalled at them. Bonham and the rest of team C quickly shrugged off their tanks and joined the Major on land. Once there the Major grabbed Bonham and together they took point and carefully advanced into the complex.


	17. Chapter 17

Eroica’s arms, tied above his head, were on fire. He barely remembered being transferred into the basement and now wished he had fought much harder. Perhaps he could have provoked them into killing him quickly? Now all he had to look forward to was a slow death preceded by his betrayal of the man he loved. ‘Twice in a month,’ Eroica thought, ‘that must be a record even for me.’ He muffled a grunt of pain as Steve Joseph gently pushed him and caused him to swing slightly. Eroica was tall but the basement had a high ceiling and he was suspended so his feet just failed to touch the ground. His toes however did just brush the flagstones as he swung, giving him the illusion that if he just stretched a little more he could ease the pressure off his screaming shoulders. So far he had resisted that temptation. He refused to give Steve the satisfaction of watching him try

“Just checking you’re still with us.” Steve said callously and he carefully checked a trolley neatly laid out with medical instruments. “I wouldn’t want you to pass out so soon. You could tell what we want to know and this would be over so quickly, in fact I might not really get a chance to start.” Steve paused and seemed slightly embarrassed. “Lord Gloria, would you mind terribly if I took a lock of your hair? Something for me to remember you by.”

Eroica didn’t bother to reply. Of all the places for his glittering career to end. To die in a stinking cellar by the hands of this foul man was so humiliating, and try as he might, Eroica could find no romance in it. The only way to salvage this mess was for the Major to come in astride his white charger and save the day. However, even in his wildest flights of fancy Eroica couldn’t see it happening.

Jones trod water in the shadows of the boathouse. He and A were going in first but there was a problem. They had hoped the boat house would be empty but an amorous couple had decided it was an ideal location for a tryst. Jones could see the man lying on a tarpaulin next to the dock with the woman astride him. ‘At least,’ Jones thought, ‘they are going to be distracted.’ As quietly as possible they waded up the slipway using the boat positioned there as cover. The couple had showed no signs of noticing them so far.

A signalled Jones to take one side and he took the other. Carefully getting out of the water and keeping to the shadows the two men approached the copulating couple carefully timing their footfalls with their quarry’s moans and gasps. A drew his gun and Jones followed suit. Speeding up their approach as it became obvious that the liaison was about to reach it’s finale, A and Jones synchronised their movements to simultaneously gag and threaten the couple. Jones felt the girl try to scream through his fingers and start to struggle. Desperate to prevent her raising the alarm he lifted his gun and hit her on the side of the head with the butt. Knocked unconscious she fell forwards onto the supine man effectively pining him to the ground. The man, who had been transported instantaneously from heaven to hell, stared up at the two armed men and silently raised his hands above his head. and watched completely bemused as the remaining member of team B joined his comrades.

Rankin sipped milk from a champagne glass and lay back on the chaise longue. Generally the operation had gone well. Not perfectly, but in this life nothing went perfectly. His main mistake had been to recruit Major Cairns. To be fair it had been Cairns who had first found out about Ellison’s inventions during a NATO investigation of the company. But that hadn’t made him less power hungry or less of a liability. So Cairns had had to be removed, unfortunately Rankin had believed his lies about already having acquired the doping equipment and documentation. Still that mistake was about to be rectified. ‘FreeLand’, a naïve, expendable, easily deceived and directed group of fanatics had been sacrificed to provide a distraction to acquire the documentation. However, for the late Dr Ellison’s inventions never to see the light of day Steve Joseph had to persuade that flamboyant thief to reveal the location of the doping device. Steve was an incredible find. There were few in this business who had his talent, but Rankin would never make Cairns’ mistake. Steve Joseph had no friends and was certainly never to be trusted. Confident of the outcome, Rankin took another sip of his milk and relaxed further. Everything was going to be fine.

Major Eberbach looked over at the six men he had led into the building as they crouched in a corridor. Contrary to his expression he was pleased. Apart from the guard at the shore they had managed to get inside without being seen, conduct a brief reconnaissance and even managed to locate the main guard room. Now he had to send his men to the sniper positions they’d found where they could efficiently disrupt the defence against the main assault. One point troubled him though. The hostage needed to be found and protected, otherwise he would either be instantly killed or used against them. The Major had assigned himself to that task as he normally would, but in this case he wanted to look for that blasted hostage so much he didn’t feel he could allow himself to do it.

“Bonham, you’re with me,” he finally said. “The rest of you spread out and take up the positions I assigned to you. You know what to do.”

The others slipped off to their positions and the Major handed the tracker to Bonham.

“I’ll check ahead, you tell me which way to go.”

“Well, from here we need to go down.”

Z tightened the gag on the last guard. His team had made it ashore without incident and had secured a beach head ready for the boat teams. It had all gone to plan except that the boats should have been here nearly a minute ago. Z refused to believe that anything had gone wrong. It was only a matter of time before team C would be discovered and without backup they would be outnumbered and eventually doomed.

Eroica forced his eyes open. The cuts from the earlier beating had stopped bleeding but they had left a trail of dried blood into his eyes through which it was hard to see. So far Steve had done very little to him. Very little, that apart from messing up his hair and making him feel vulnerable, humiliated and stupid. His arms had gone completely numb and he only felt the pain when Steve occasionally set him swinging. Eroica was very familiar with the softening up process, but that wasn’t helping him fight it. At least it looked like Steve was finally about to start the main event.

“So, Lord Gloria, where shall I start?” Steve said as he examined the fine scalpel in his hands. “What matters more to you than the location of an insignificant device? I’ve been reading up on you and the things that matter to you. Beauty, elegance, virility and the freedom to do as you please. I also read about the merry chase you’ve lead a certain NATO officer and the conflicting reports on whether you caught him or not. What would he think of you if I marred your beauty, took away your elegance, stripped you of your virility?” Steve was grinning broadly up at Eroica now. “I’m going to persuade Mr Rankin to let you go after all, well let most of you go that is. I think, perhaps, I shall keep something in addition to a lock of hair to remember you by.”

Eroica closed his eyes and was unable to stifle the groan as he realised what Steve was planning for him. ‘Please, I’d rather a slow death than an unglamorous life.’

“I’m going to let you go to wander the world as half a man.” Steve continued as he raised the scalpel. “You can stop me anytime, but don’t leave it too late for, as talented a surgeon as I am, it never works as well after it’s been sewn back on.

Eroica buckled away from the sharp blade but cried out when the movement jarred his tortured shoulders. Had his feet been free he would have kicked out despite the agony. Steve laughed heartily. Suddenly a voice came from out of the shadows.

“Drop the knife. Now!.”

Steve Joseph spun round to face the intruder. Major Eberbach stood at his stony faced best pointing a gun towards him.

“Now, now Major. I’m sure we can come to some arrangement.”

“The only arrangement is for you to lower the knife and put your hands up in the air.”

Steve Joseph looked about to comply when the sounds of shouting and gunfire erupted from above. Concerned for his men the Major glanced upwards. Taking advantage of the Major’s momentary distraction Steve Joseph went for his gun. He was fast but not fast enough, and before he could bring the gun to bear the Major had aimed and fired. As ever the Major’s aim was deadly and accurate and the bullet hit Steve in the centre of his forehead killing him instantly. Eroica screamed as Steve’s brain splattered over him momentarily afraid he had been hit as well.

The Major rushed forward, scared that he had killed the Earl.

“Are you all right?” The Major asked desperately as he reached up to sever the rope securing Dorian to the beam.

“My hero,” said Dorian as he collapsed into the Major’s arms. The Major lowered them both to the ground. “You looked so brave coming to my rescue,” Dorian continued. The Major ignored him as he cut the rope that had bound Dorian’s wrists together. The rope had bitten deeply into the flesh but the bleeding was not severe. An incredible feeling of hatred towards Steve Joseph for daring to hurt the man in his arms flared up. It burned so brightly that the Major wished he could bring Steve back from the dead to kill him more slowly next time. The feeling was so strong that for a moment it didn’t sink in that there was a man in his arms. Suddenly the echo of distant gunfire sounded in the basement caught his attention and he became aware of his current situation. Here he was hiding in a basement clutching Dorian to his chest while above him his men risked their lives carrying out his mission. The Major jumped back as if burned but before he could push Dorian away he found himself transfixed by a pair of turquoise eyes.

“Does this mean that I’m forgiven and that you are willing to give us another chance?” Dorian said hopefully. The Major was stunned into silence. Now that he had released Dorian he didn’t have a clue what he wanted to do with him next. He found that he was massaging Dorian’s bloody wrists, as if trying to wipe the hurt away. An action that must be hurting Dorian, but the Major saw no signs of it in the pleading eyes.

Steeling himself he pushed himself off the floor and away from the injured man.

“I’ve got to go and help with the assault. Bonham will look after you. I’ll send more men to protect you when I can.” Major Eberbach stood and turned to leave, desperate to be away from Dorian’s disturbing presence.

“Major, don’t go!” Dorian said as he tried to rise. “I’d rather you left me hanging from that beam than rescue me and leave now.”

The Major was a strong man and he almost made it to the basement stairs. There he stood unable to continue, unwilling to return. But even an ‘Iron man’ has a heart and at last it triumphed and he returned to that blood soaked, beaten, filthy, beautiful creature sprawled on the floor. Crouching down he gently put his hand under Dorian’s chin and lifted the thief’s head.

“We’ll sort it out. It’s going to be OK,” the Major said gently.

“Promise?” Dorian asked, hope shining in his eyes.

“I promise. I have to check on my men. I’ll be back, you have my word on it.” Reluctantly the Major headed back for the stairs to check on the progress of the assault. He’d hardly started climbing when he had to side step to avoid B as the agent ran headlong down them.

“Stay here,” the Major ordered grabbing B and turning him to look at Eroica and Bonham. “Make sure no harm comes to these two.” With that and brooking no delay the Major raced up the stairs to help with the assault.

The Major was conferring with A, G and Z, “Is everybody accounted for? Have we got a blood list for our team yet?” The Major was pleased with the strike but he needed updates

“The casualties to our operatives have been light sir, no life threatening injuries reported. The medical helicopters are on their way in.” For some reason A was speaking through a wide smile and G had a large grin on his face.

“Good,” said the Major, wondering what exactly it was that they were all so happy about.

“We have definites on all but one of the gang and he was seen heading for the edge of the Island. All the major targets have been confirmed, however.” It was insane, even Z was finding it hard to keep a straight face.

“What exactly is the cause of all this merriment?” The Major didn’t approve, especially in the middle of an operation.

“We’re just pleased at the conclusion of a very difficult mission sir,” A ventured

“This mission is completed when that last man is captured,” the Major said roughly. He was pleased with his men’s performance up to now, but this last minute giddiness was bad. “Are teams out looking for him?”

“Yes sir,” said Z trying to look more serious.

“Then help them.” The Major was becoming exasperated. The three agents turned to attend to their duties. The Major shook his head, ‘Idiots.’ He surveyed the damage in the boathouse. Suddenly he noticed a strange glint in one of the corners. ‘Odd,’ he thought. Then he realised it was the barrel of a gun. The missing man must have doubled back through some passages they didn’t know about and was trying to get access to a boat to get off the island. A, G and Z were walking into his line of fire.

“Get down!” the Major screamed and sprinted towards the group of agents . He slammed into them knocking them to the floor and fired towards the nook in the wall. Shots rang out that weren’t his, and the world went dark.

Bonham walked behind Eroica through the mansion. They were heading towards the boathouse, the agreed rendezvous point. He noticed how the Earl now walked with a spring in his step, but so did everybody at the moment. He and B had quickly disseminated the news that at last Eroica and the Major had been reconciled, that information joined with the successful raid had produced a party atmosphere. Though Bonham doubted Eroica noticed the other men’s happiness; he was so wrapped up in his own. Everyone was grinning and looking forward to getting back home and a much less stressful future.

Bonham exchanged another happy greeting with some of the Major’ agents and considered the Earl. Never before had he looked so happy, even in the middle of an exciting escapade he’d never been this joyful. And happiness made the Earl beautiful, he brightened up all the rooms he passed through.

In the distance gunfire could be heard. Bonham was confused ‘I thought everyone had been captured.’

Eroica seemed to sense something for he suddenly started running. “Oh no! Please, no! Bonham! Come quickly!”

Bonham followed the running Earl, they were joined by other agents running in the same direction with their guns drawn. Eroica burst into the boathouse with Bonham and agents flying in his wake.

“Get down! My Lord!” Bonham urged, but he needn’t have worried the danger was passed, the damage was done.

“Noooo!” Eroica screamed and rushed forward, “Not now! Not after everything that’s happened! Not after all this suffering! It can’t be!”

Bonham tried to take in the scene before him. Surrounded by a ring of stunned agents was a group of four people, the Major lay half supported by agents G and Z with A kneeling over him.

A turned and caught Eroica as he tried to fly past and restrained him. “Please don’t move him. He’s still alive and the helicopters will be here soon. Please don’t!”

‘Alive?’ Bonham was surprised, the Major certainly didn’t look alive. His head was covered in blood, blood that matted his hair and stained G and Z’s suits red, blood that had created the large puddle that A had been kneeling in. How much blood can one person lose? Shouldn’t they do something to stop the bleeding?

Eroica seemed to take in A’s words and calming down slightly he slid slowly to the floor to sit in the sticky pool that surrounded the Major. He gently took one of the Major’ limp hands and held it tightly in his own.

“Please don’t go, love! Don’t leave me! Not now!”

Bonham’s heart wanted to break with the Earl’s. “Shouldn’t we stop the bleeding?” he whispered to the stricken A.

“We’ve tried, we can’t put much direct pressure on as we don’t know how much damage the bullet did. We could kill him.” Bonham put his arm around A .

“What happened?” Bonham felt it might be important, at least a distraction from watching Eroica sit holding vigil over the Major.

“The last gunman tried to get to the boats. We hadn’t seen him. He was about to shoot us when the Major got in his way.”

“Where’s the gunman now?”

“Dead. The Major got him just before he got the Major.”

And there they waited, a tragic tableau listening out for the sound of helicopters.

He survived, of course. ‘It would take more than a bullet to kill Iron Klaus,’ thought Eroica fondly. He sat by the Major’s bedside in an Italian hospital, watching two nuns bustle about doing incomprehensible things.

The Major lay still, he looked as if he was watching Eroica. He said, “How long have you been here?”

“A couple of hours.”

“Boring for you.”

“No.” Eroica grinned. “You are never dull, Major.”

“I was asleep.”

“I know, I find we argue less then,” Eroica touched his face. “Go back to sleep. We’ll talk when you’re ready.”

The Major smiled. He slept again. Eroica picked up a magazine. He had a lot of time to kill.


	18. Chapter 18

“I thought you would be better once you were home,” said Eroica. He was sitting beside the Major, looking out of the window of his bedroom in Schloß Eberbach onto the immaculate lawn below.

“I want to go back to work. I have things to do,” the Major sounded like a sulky child.

“You always do.”

“Important things.”

“Yes, of course.”

“Dorian, don’t patronise me. I’m injured, not stupid.”

Eroica sighed. Sometimes it was so hard to know what to do or say, the Major was not the best of patients. Not that he was really ill any more, he just needed rest. Anyone else would have apologised, but the Major just patted his hand, awkwardly. Eroica slid his hand into the Major’s and squeezed, immediately letting go.

Apropos nothing at all the Major said, “The doctor says I’m well enough to start…” he ran out of words.

“Driving?”

“No, that’ll be at least another couple of weeks.”

“Oh. What, then?”

“He said I can…make love. If I’m careful.”

“He just came out with this one day, did he?” Eroica was amused.

“No. I asked.”

“I see. Does that mean…”

“That I want you, yes.”

“I meant, does it mean you’ve really forgiven me?” Eroica leaned forward, kissing his Major gently on the cheek.

The Major thought about it. “I think…that I will forgive you. If you let me.”

“I understand.” Eroica said, “I am really sorry about how I treated you. I won’t do it again.”

“I was sorry also. And you’re damn right you won’t do it again.”

There was a long silence, broken only by the sound of the trees rustling gently outside the window.

“Can we start again?” asked Eroica, in a small voice.

“What?” the Major was wary.

“This…” he kissed the Major…Klaus…on the cheek, and then on the mouth. He tasted good, as good as Dorian remembered.

“That…”said Klaus, “would be very pleasant, I think.” He kissed Dorian, gently, then more firmly, opening his mouth and exploring him.

Dorian groaned, softly. He felt Klaus’ hand run up his thigh, and then over his erection. Klaus said, “I’ve hardly touched you.”

“It’s been a long time.”

“Oh, yes of course it has.”

Dorian turned to face Klaus, he was aware of his physical condition, troubled by it, but Klaus had said he’d asked the doctor and he wouldn’t lie about something like that. It felt so good, he’d waited so long for this. He moved his hand to Klaus’ shirt buttons, undoing the top one, and then down one by one to the waistband of his trousers.

Klaus took his hand. “The bed, I think,” he said. “It would be more comfortable.”

“Oh. Yes.” Dorian stood, and helped Klaus to stand.

The bed was more comfortable, and Dorian relaxed. He reached out and helped Klaus out of his trousers and his socks. He’d already discarded slippers. He ran his hand down Klaus’ chest, then leaned forward and took one small brown nipple into his mouth. Klaus arched and moaned. He said, “You never did that before.”

Dorian grinned, “I never thought of it before. Nice?”

“Yes. More…”

Dorian gave him what he wanted, sucking gently on the tiny buds. He ran his hand down Klaus’ body, hooking a finger under the waistband of his briefs and pulling the briefs down. Klaus helped him pull them off, a little vaguely, and Dorian covered Klaus erection with his hand, rubbing not too gently.

Klaus gave a moan. “Not so fast,” he said.

“Oh?”

“You’re still dressed. I’m not after a quick…” he ran out of words, not knowing quite what he meant in any case.

Dorian grinned, wide and sunny. “I’m glad.” He slipped his shirt off, and followed it with his trousers. “What are you looking at?” he asked.

“You wear such plain underwear. It has always surprised me.”

“I suppose…I show off where it matters. And it’s more comfortable. You noticed my underwear?”

“Does that make me perverted?”

“No. Should it?”

“I always wondered,” Klaus said. “An interest in your underwear never seemed quite…normal. And I was interested.”

“Why would you wish to be normal?”

“I…don’t know. I thought it might be easier.”

“I don’t have many straight friends,” said Dorian, ridding himself of the last of his clothes, “but the ones I do have don’t seem to have any easier a time of it than I do.” He thought for a moment. “Does that mean you’ve always been gay?”

“I think so. I just wasn’t prepared to admit it.”

“I think…”

“What?”

“We should get on with this…” he leaned over Klaus, and took one of his nipples in his mouth again.

“Yes…” gasped Klaus, “Yes!”

Dorian smiled, and reached down for Klaus rock-hard erection, rubbing it gently. He felt Klaus’ hand on his chest, then travel down his body to cover Dorian’s erection and start to milk him slowly.

Klaus pulled out of their kiss, he said, “I want you.”

“Oh?”

“I want to fuck you.” Trust Klaus to be direct.

“Do you think that’s wise…” Dorian was concerned about taxing Klaus’ strength.

“Probably not, but I want to do it anyway.”

“Very well.” Dorian was quite unable to deny Klaus anything he might want. He kissed Klaus, and said, “Do you have anything we can use?”

Klaus leaned over to the bedside table, and took a tube of gel from the drawer, showing Dorian in amused triumph. “Here,” he said. A moment later he added a condom.

“You prepared for this…you never even had to get the rubber out of the pack!”

Klaus blushed. He said, “That first time, when you seduced me. You’d prepared it all.”

Dorian felt a little ashamed, “Yes, I did.”

“And it worked. And this worked, also.”

“Did the doctor really say you were ready?” asked Dorian.

“Yes,” said Klaus, in exasperation. “I left nothing to chance. Now roll over.”

“Always giving orders.”

“Yes. Not that you take any notice.”

“I obeyed this one.”

“Only because it’s in your interests to do so.” Klaus had obviously put some of the gel on his fingers. Dorian felt one slip inside, a slightly uncomfortable intrusion. “Hmmm…so good,” said Klaus. “Don’t move.” Dorian felt Klaus insert another finger and moved into the pressure.

Soon he was almost delirious with the feelings it aroused in him, “Klaus,” he said, “Klaus, please. Now, please.”

“Very well. Stay there…”

Dorian gasped, Klaus penis was larger than he remembered, or he was not as used to it. It must be that. He concentrated on relaxing, and then suddenly he was over the pain, flying free with Klaus inside him. His gasps now were of need, orgasm was close, very close…it was there, washing over him in waves. Inside him he felt Klaus climax, a moment after his own was over, and he concentrated on making it last for him, making it good and long. Finally Klaus collapsed bonelessly onto his back, and his penis slipped free.

A silence fell as Major Eberbach walked into the office. The slight limp was only noticeable because the men were looking for it. Agent A had been running the Major’s team while the Major had been incapacitated, and while everyone had seen him clear his things out of the Major’s desk no-one had really believed the Major would return. Or at least, not yet.

“We’re very pleased to see you back, sir,” said Z.

“Thank you. Perhaps you and A can brief me on the matters we have on hand at the moment?” said the Major, astonishingly polite for once. “And B, bring me some coffee.” The politeness hadn’t lasted long.

“Yes, sir. Do you want to speak to the Chief?”

“No.”

“He left instructions for you to see him as soon as possible.”

“I’ll talk to him when I’m ready.” The Major had had a lot of time in hospital, and later, to think about the last mission. Sometimes he’d even been alone. There was time enough to face up to the very unpleasant conclusions he’d come to.

Although he wanted to put off the interview with the Chief as long as he possibly could he also wanted it over. Once it was over he would, at least, know what his future was to be.

“How’s the pretty lover?” The Chief had gone on the offensive immediately, it was the obvious opening.

“He’s very well. Thank you for asking,” the Major said. Stalemate.

“Take a seat.”

“I’d rather stand.” Now that was petty, and the Major knew it.

“Very well, stand then if you think your heath is up to it. I gather that the doctors don’t expect there to be any long term problems.”

The Major decided it was time to attack. “You’re back to smoking a pipe I see.”

Mild puzzlement. “What do you mean? I never stopped.”

“The last time I was in here… you didn’t offer me a cigarette. From the packet. On your desk. Colonel Cairns offered me one, once.”

The Chief went an ugly putty colour, that barb had gone home. He said, “Do sit down, Major. You must be tired after all that time in hospital and you’re still limping. It’s strange the side effects you can get from a head wound.”

This time the Major took the chair he was offered.

“You were very close to being taken out during that last mission, did you know that, Major? Several people were starting to believe that the stress of the job had finally got to you.” The Chief said, very casually. “Several still think so. Some very influential. So, was it the job? Or was it, perhaps, something else?” The Chief added, nastily.

“Neither,” replied the Major, neutrally. But he was concerned. He knew his behaviour had been far from normal, finding Dorian with Freddie was still something he didn’t care to remember. But he’d been allowed back into NATO HQ, people may have suspected him to be insane, but no one had any doubts about his effectiveness. Success had brought him a breathing space, it could be used further. “I was merely acting on your orders, sir.”

There was a long pause. The Chief said, “And my orders required you to behave in some very strange ways.”

“It was necessary to confuse the enemy, sir.” The Major lied quickly. “I was concerned there was a mole high in NATO.”

“Indeed, it confused many people.”

There was a pause.

“About your… private life,” the Chief sounded as if he was trying to be delicate.

“Yes?”

“He is a… potential embarrassment. To NATO, I mean.”

“Is he? The revised personnel procedures don’t allow of discrimination against… gay men… among others.”

“Your father…”

‘Nice try, Chief,’ thought the Major. He said, “My father is my problem. I have every intention to telling him, in due course.” That date might have to be brought forward a few months.

“That’s very brave.” The Chief paused, then he said, “And what about his proclivity for helping himself to other people’s property?”

“If Scotland Yard’s Art and Antiques Squad has never proved anything, and Interpol are still at a loss, I think his chances are pretty good.”

“But they could find out.”

“That is always a possibility. New information can always come to light. No vault, not even one in NATO’s basement is secure enough.”

“Did we ever discover who stole the first set of documents from the safe?” The Chief asked lightly.

“My investigation has yet to announce it’s results, sir.”

The Major and the Chief stared silently at each other across the desk. Eventually the Chief spoke. “Very well. I’m glad that my orders were so well carried out. As glad as I am that you understand the position my friendship with Colonel Cairns left me in.”

“Yes sir.”

“I see we understand one another.” The Chief took a long pull on his pipe, and fluffed out the white moustaches, “I’m genuinely pleased we seen to be on the same wavelength, here.”

“Yes, sir.” The Major kept his face quite straight. But he knew he was cornered, he couldn’t take any action against the Chief without the Chief taking action against him, or against himself and Dorian. The Major would have easily sacrificed his career in NATO if he could take the Chief down with him, but he couldn’t guarantee that and he wouldn’t endanger Dorian. It was at best an uncomfortable stalemate, but the best he could hope for. He would really have liked to rid himself and NATO of this man but couldn’t, not yet.

However, the Chief knew he would be watching. They would all have to be a lot more careful from now on.

Chief Schuster sat back in his chair and drew on his pipe. It would be an understatement to say that the operation had not gone to plan. When he’d set his best bulldog to curtail the embarrassingly high profile activities of the blackmail ring he’d never realised that it would end up with the destruction of the carefully built Armando organisation. Eberbach could be unpredictable but this mission had broken all records. For Eberbach had not been content to carry out his original orders but had followed the leads that had appeared from the destruction of the blackmail ring.

Normally Schuster could have reassigned the surly Major but something had happened between that blasted thief and the Major which had left Eberbach a demon of a man. A demon who refused to be reassigned, even the Chief had been frightened by that hellish caricature of a person.

Now it was documented how Rankin had tried to suppress Dr Ellison’s invention to create superconductors at room temperature to protect his communications empire. So, despite Rankin, the now freely owned Belsornian mines were producing as much Qradlite for the doping process as the world needed and the superconductor was about to become common.

Not only that, but Ellison’s protocol for sending data down power cables that had been doped in situ was already being implemented. And the Chief would not make a penny out of it. All those risks, getting Cairns released from custody, stealing from his own vault, consorting with murders and all for nothing. The Chief could live without power, he was happy for Rankin to have had that but he had wanted the money.

Now that thorn in his side, Eberbach, was going to be watching his every move, so, for a while, Schuster was going to have to be a good little NATO boss until this all blew over.

He would bide his time, wait for Eroica, Eberbach’s Achilles’ heel, to compromise the Major. Then he could try again.


	19. Epilogue: Coming Out

Klaus von Eberbach climbed out of the warm interior of his BMW, and looked round. The Swiss Alps rose majestic around him, and he looked up at them for once unimpressed by their grandeur. He stomped up the hill towards the large chalet, at this altitude it was cold and he was glad of the warmth from the exercise.

His father’s butler, Tangelmann, had seen him coming and had the door open for him as he arrived, and was already talking. “Good afternoon, Herr von Eberbach. The master’s expecting you. He’s in the small study. Shall I bring coffee?”

“Thank you.” Klaus didn’t want to admit it, but the short walk had been more tiring than he would have expected. It seemed that he wasn’t over his injury even yet.

He knocked on the door to the small study. It was his father’s favourite room, his den. After a moment, he heard, “Come in.” Klaus swallowed a nervousness he wouldn’t admit to, and entered.

“Ah, Klaus, my boy. Sit down. I trust coffee’s on the way?”

“Yes, sir.” Klaus had been brought up to call his father sir, he’d never called him anything else. The room was close, stuffy, rather over-warm. His father no longer went out much, he said his wounds from the war troubled him more as he got older and particularly when it was cold.

“And how is the estate?”

“Doing well.” His father always asked that first though why it bothered him when he no longer lived at Schloß Eberbach was a mystery.

“I’m pleased.”

Tangelmann arrived with coffee. Klaus tasted his. It was some expensive blend that was totally wasted on him. He sipped it anyway, after the walk up to the chalet he needed something. And he needed something to fortify him for the coming interview; a bottle of brandy would have been welcome.

As soon as Tangelmann had gone, his father asked, “What have you come to see me about? Normally wild horses wouldn’t drag you to Switzerland.”

“I have something to tell you, sir.”

“Oh. Go on.”

Not very encouraging. Klaus took a deep breath. This was ridiculous. He was an adult, a Major in the German army and here he was behaving like a schoolboy who has broken a window and must confess to the headmaster. He took another deep breath. “Father, I have met the person I want to spend the rest of my life with.”

“I see. And what’s wrong with her?”

“It’s…” Klaus stopped. He was as near to panic as he had ever been in his adult life, and he was in no real danger. “It’s not a woman.” Another deep breath. “It’s a man.”

“So. You are queer.”

Klaus remembered something Dorian had told him. He’d said: ‘Being gay, it’s going to be harder for you than it is for me. Everyone can see I’m gay, this is how they imagine gay men are. You’re going to have to tell people. I hardly ever have to do that. It won’t be easy.’ He hadn’t then understood quite what Dorian had been getting at. Now he knew.

He unconsciously straightened his back. “Yes, sir. I’m gay.” He’d said it. For the first time he’d said it out loud, to another person and not to the bathroom mirror.

“You’re queer.”

“Whatever you want to call it, sir. I’m really not in the mood for discussing the politics of gender. I thought that you deserved to hear the truth from me rather from Army gossip.”

“There has already been talk about you.” His father picked up his pipe, and then put it down again.

“Really?” He wasn’t surprised.

“And that’s why you came to tell me.”

The truth was best. “Partly. And partly because I thought you should know.”

The old man – suddenly he looked old, but Klaus realised now that he had been old for a long time – picked up the pipe again and started to fill it. He said, “How do you think it makes me feel, that my only son is a filthy queer? I thought I taught you better than that.”

“Sir,” Klaus started then stopped again while he decided what to say. Finally he said, “It was nothing you did.”

“Then you blame your mother, poor dead soul.”

“I don’t blame anyone. There is no need for anyone to be blamed.” Klaus was stung by this. He hadn’t foreseen it and despite everything it hurt. He had thought his father could cause him no more pain, but it seemed he was wrong.

“And this…person…who has led you into this…”

Klaus didn’t really know what to say. Dorian had shown him affection and respect, his love was real, Klaus had no doubt of it. But still, he did feel, a little, that Dorian had led him into something for which he wasn’t prepared. On the other hand, wasn’t that true of every couple, even straight ones? Klaus said, “I don’t want to discuss him.”

His father seized on it immediately. “You’re ashamed of him.”

“No. I don’t want to talk about him. If you want to meet him I’ll bring him here and you can. Or you can come to Eberbach and see him there.”

“This…creature…is at Eberbach?” his father sounded utterly outraged.

“Of course. That’s where I live.” Klaus was careful to be matter-of-fact.

“You’ve brought your…your bedboy…to live at Eberbach! How dare you?”

“I wouldn’t say that I’ve brought him to live at Eberbach. He’s often there because that’s where I live.” Klaus didn’t want to justify himself, he didn’t want to be forced into that position. This interview was going every bit as badly as he had expected and he didn’t want to give his father any more ammunition.

“And where does he live the rest of the time?” sneered the old man. “The gutter where you found him? I expect he only wants you for your money.”

“He has a home of his own. Several, actually.” The idea that Dorian might be a gold digger had never occurred to Klaus, largely because it was so laughable. “If anyone is after anyone else’s money it should be me after his.”

That seemed to stop the old man in his tracks. “Who is this man?” he demanded.

“His name’s Dorian. Dorian Red Gloria, the Earl of Gloria. He’s English.”

“I believe I’ve heard of him. He’s in the society papers from time to time. Flamboyant, rich, handsome, extravagant. A bleeding-heart liberal.”

“I had no idea you read the society papers, sir.”

“Frau Tangelmann gets them.”

“Of course.” Klaus smiled to himself.

“And you can take that look off your face. Listen to me, boy. I don’t want your fancy man anywhere near Eberbach, you hear me?”

“Yes, sir. I’m not deaf. In that case you won’t want me to manage the estate for you any more.” He considered for a moment, “I’ll get a flat in Bonn, it will be far more convenient for my work.”

They stared at each other. Finally his father said, “The army won’t keep you once it’s discovered you’re queer.”

“They’ve known for some time. There’s no sign of them cashiering me yet.” He grinned suddenly, “And if they do, Dorian will be more than happy to keep me in the manner to which he’s accustomed.”

The old man stared at him in disbelief. “You’re serious.”

“Yes, sir. Quite serious. You see, I don’t need to be in the army. I don’t need to work at all. Even without Eberbach, without any of your money, I am quite free to do exactly as I like. I am prepared to shoulder my duties, with one exception. I am unlikely to marry or have children. That would be true even if I had never met Dorian.” Klaus paused, deliberately. “If you want to relieve me of the burden of the Eberbach estate that’s your affair, but do you really feel you want to take it back after all these years?” Klaus smiled, and he knew it was not a nice look. “I thought not. And while I am managing Eberbach, I’ll have what guests I like there, because it’s my home.”

“You cheeky young pup!”

“Yes, sir.”

‘Not that young, actually,’ thought Klaus. He could feel a headache starting up, another thing left over from his injury: stress-related headaches.

“I should throw you out.”

“And will you?”

“No.” It was then Klaus knew that he’d won.

Not that there was ever any doubt of it.


End file.
